Till There Was You
by A Chocolate Frog
Summary: Three years after the Second War, Neville finds himself adrift, unsatisfied with his life, and longing for adventure. On a whim, he moves to New York City and embarks on a summer of new friends, new ideas, self-discovery, and perhaps even love.
1. Chapter 1: Leaving

___So...two years ago I promised I had a story of epic proportions in the works, and it would be done soon. Here's that story...heh heh. Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans, right? The proportions are epic, at least. Enjoy!_

_This story is dedicated to and was written for my dear friend Emily, who loves Neville more than anyone else I've ever met._

_**~Chapter 1: Leaving~**_

Neville Longbottom stared at the parchment in front of him, and it seemed to stare right back, as if its blank surface were trying to bore into his brain. He had assumed that writing this note would be so simple that he had hardly given it a second thought, but it was turning out to be more difficult than any Potions essay or Auror's report that he had ever written.

At least he was sure of the first two words, which were merely dictated by circumstance, rather than chosen. He dipped the quill into the ink bottle and scrawled,

_Dear Gran,_

"Neville!" a voice called, startling him so much that he stepped back into a rickety set of shelves. He tried to steady it, but a small bottle toppled from the highest shelf and smashed at his feet. Venomous Tentacula seeds scattered everywhere.

_Damn._

"I'm back here, Tilly," he called, stooping to gather up the seeds.

A wispy little witch poked her head into the back room of the Apothecary. She had a bright face and flyaway, snowy-white hair. "I don't think we're going to have any more customers today. We can close up a little early," she said.

"Okay," Neville replied. "Just let me clean up my mess here."

Tilly nodded. "Take your time, dear," she said and returned to the front of the shop.

Neville scooped up the rest of the seeds and deposited them in an empty jar on the counter. Taking out his wand, he Vanished the broken glass on the floor. He stuffed the mostly-blank parchment into his pocket, took a last look around, and shoved through the curtain divider into the main room.

Tilly was counting money at the cash register. "I sure wish you weren't going," she said, smiling wistfully. "Of course, I never thought a young thing like you would stick around this little shop forever, but I'm going to miss you. You've been a big help to me, Neville."

"You've taught me a lot. I really appreciate it," he said sincerely.

"Don't mention it. There's your pay," she added, nodding toward an envelope on the counter.

"Thanks," he said, pocketing it. "Do you need me to do anything else for you?"

"Not a thing. You just get on out of here and take care of yourself."

"I will," Neville promised. "And you take care too." The little bell tinkled as he pushed open the front door. "Bye, Tilly."

"Bye, Neville."

He stepped out into Diagon Alley and joined the meandering stream of people headed toward the Leaky Cauldron. He noticed that several other shops had also closed early. It was the first truly warm, spring day of the year, and there wasn't much point in staying open when customers and employees alike would rather be outdoors.

Neville looked around as he walked, cementing the landscape of Diagon Alley into his memory. He had no idea when he'd be back again.

He was glad to see a sizable crowd inside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. He'd become rather good friends with Orlando Fortescue, who had taken over the business after his uncle had disappeared. Despite his line of customers, Orlando looked up and waved through the window as Neville went by.

Neville passed under a narrow archway and through a little courtyard lined with dustbins and entered the Leaky Cauldron by the back door. The wizened bartender looked up from the glass he was wiping and smiled toothlessly.

"Hey, Neville."

"Hi, Tom," Neville replied. "I was surprised you weren't here this morning."

"So was everyone else. I just decided to sleep in today, since I finally hired some help. I'm getting too old to run this place by myself," Tom explained.

"Well, you picked a good person," Neville assured him. "She's a hard worker. Hufflepuff through and through."

"Oh, you know Hannah, do you?"

Neville nodded. "Yeah, we were classmates at Hogwarts."

"Ah, of course you were. See? I'm getting forgetful too." He ran his fingers through the few hairs that were left on his head. "Well, what can I get for you?"

"Just a butterbeer, please."

Tom took a flagon from under the counter and filled it with a frothy, golden liquid. "How's your grandmother doing, by the way?" he asked.

Neville shrugged. "Same as yesterday. She misses Mum and Dad, although it's not like she spent much time with them. She's managing, I guess. Gran's a tough old bird. Thanks," he said, taking the glass from Tom and handing him three Sickles.

Neville left the bar and settled at an out-of-the-way booth along the far wall. He sipped his drink and checked his watch. His friends ought to be there soon.

Ten seconds later, two young men entered the pub: one with dark hair and glasses and, right behind him, a taller man with bright red hair. Both were smartly dressed and carrying briefcases.

"Harry! Ron! Over here," Neville called.

They looked over and grinned. Harry handed his briefcase to Ron and walked to the bar, and Ron crossed the room to Neville's table.

"Hi, Neville," he said, taking a seat on the opposite bench. "How's life at the Apothecary? Is it still standing?"

Neville glared. "Ha, ha. I can make _some_ potions, you know. It's a lot easier without a greasy-haired bastard breathing down my neck. Tilly makes most of the potions anyway, though. I'm just in charge of the plants."

Harry appeared, carrying two butterbeers, and slid in next to Ron. "Hey, Neville. Apothecary still in one piece?"

Neville rolled his eyes. "The only thing you two lack more than wit is originality."

Harry laughed. "We're working on it."

"Don't quit your day job," Neville advised. "Speaking of, how are things going at the Ministry?"

"Everything's running pretty smoothly," Ron said. "Although Kingsley just made Percy head of his department, so International Magical Cooperation will probably fall to pieces within a week."

Neville chuckled and took another sip of butterbeer. Ron's older brother was honestly very good at his job, but his pompous attitude had made him something of a joke among the other high-level Ministry workers.

"You know, things were a lot more fun before you left," Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "I bet you could get your spot back any time, if you felt so inclined. I'm sure Kingsley owes you a couple of favors."

"Well, he does, but I just called one of them in," Neville said.

"Really? For what? You didn't quit the Apothecary, did you?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Actually, I did. Today was my last day. But the favor was that Kingsley set up a Portkey for me. To the Department of Magic in Washington, D.C."

Ron and Harry looked incredibly confused.

"Why the hell are you going to D.C.?" Ron asked.

"I'm only taking the Portkey that far; from there I'll Apparate to Manhattan. Orlando Fortescue knows someone there who'll rent me a flat."

Neville sighed as his friends' expressions of incredulity intensified. "I've got to get away," he explained. "I've got to get out of here before I go completely mad."

Harry shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't," Neville said matter-of-factly. "You two've got it all figured out. You've got careers, you've got girls..."

"Hang on," Ron interrupted. "I love Hermione with everything I've got, but we are far from having it all figured out."

"Okay, maybe you're not Harry and Ginny yet," Neville allowed, "but everyone knows you'll get there. The point is: you two know what your purpose is, what you're supposed to do. I'm twenty-one years old and I haven't got a bloody clue what I'm supposed to do with my life!

"I was glad to help Kingsley get things straightened out, though I don't know that I did all that much good, but I'm not meant to work at the Ministry. I don't want to dress up every day and have to deal with regulations and paperwork and chain-of-command. I did enjoy working at the Apothecary for a while, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life crushing seeds and watering plants in Diagon Alley."

He paused to finish his drink. "Gran was so proud when I started at the Ministry, and she was so mad when I quit. She wants me to match up to my parents – they were Aurors too, you know. It's been nearly nine months since they passed, and I've just felt empty ever since. And it doesn't help that Gran has started dropping hints that wasting my life away is making me a disgrace to their memory." Neville sighed again. "I'm just tired of being useless around here."

"So your brilliant plan is to go be useless in New York?" Ron snorted.

"Shut up," Neville grumbled. "I just – I'm tired of following the rules. I've never done anything spontaneous in my whole life."

"Pulling Gryffindor's sword out of the Sorting Hat and chopping off Nagini's head was pretty damn spontaneous, mate," Harry pointed out.

"Yeah, okay," Neville said, allowing himself a small grin. "But I just feel like I need to do this. I don't know, maybe it's some silly coming-of-age thing, but if I don't do it now I'll never get another chance."

Harry smiled. "Then you should go. But write to us, okay?"

Neville nodded. "Sure."

"When are you leaving?" Ron asked. "How long will you be gone?"

"I'm leaving tonight. I just have to stop home and get my things and leave a note for Gran."

"You haven't told your gran about this?" Ron exclaimed, incredulous.

Neville shrugged. "Why put myself through her wrath? She would be totally against this, and she'll be mad as hell when she finds out, but I'll be long gone. She'll be fine. She has my great-uncle Algie for company and the housekeeper to look after them both. And I have no idea when I'll be back. Two weeks, six, the whole summer...whatever seems right."

He glanced at his watch. "Actually, I should get going. My Portkey leaves in an hour and a half," he said, getting up from the table.

"Okay," Harry said, standing up as well. "You'll be back for my wedding, right?"

Neville grinned. "Of course! I wouldn't miss it!" He held out his hand to Harry, who chuckled.

"Oh, come on. We defeated the Dark Lord together!" he said and pulled Neville into a hug.

Ron stood and hugged Neville as well. "You take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will," Neville promised.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Harry advised.

Ron grinned. "And don't do anything stupid either."

"Don't worry," Neville said, "I'll be fine. Hug Ginny and Hermione for me."

"We will," Harry assured him. "See you, Neville."

"See you," Neville replied, and he Disapparated.

-.-.-.-.-

"Neville! It's good to see you again," rumbled Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, as the younger wizard walked into the Minister's ornate office.

"It's good to see you too," Neville said, setting down his duffel bag and shaking his former boss's hand warmly. "Thanks so much for setting this up for me."

"I'm glad to help," Kingsley assured him. "If you don't mind my asking, what's in the States?"

Neville shrugged. "No idea, yet. Hopefully something worthwhile."

Kingsley chuckled, a sound like faraway thunder. "So it's _that_ kind of trip. I once spent six weeks hiking through the Amazon rain forest with nothing but a wand, just to see what I could find."

"And?"

"Lots and lots of trees," he said with another roll of thunder. "And one very beautiful Muggle girl." He allowed himself a small smile at the memory before glancing at his watch. "You've got three minutes."

Neville glanced around the office. "What's the Portkey?"

"That document," Kingsley said, gesturing to a thick stack of bound parchment sitting on an otherwise empty desk. "It's a report on an international dragon breeding ring we broke up last month. I'd appreciate it if you'd pass it on to the American Division of Magical Wildlife. I thought I'd hatch two phoenixes with one fire, if you don't mind."

"No trouble at all," Neville promised as he picked up the document.

"Well, I'll let you get on with it. Take care, Neville," Kingsley said, shaking Neville's hand again.

"You too. Thank you for everything."

Kingsley smiled. "Good luck," he rumbled, and strode out of the Auror office, closing the door behind him.

Neville sighed, fervently hoping he was making a good decision. He picked up his bag and stared at his watch. Thirty seconds – no turning back now. He would never be able to live with himself if he didn't see this through. At the very least, after all he had been through in the last several years, he felt he deserved an adventure of his own design.

_Anyway,_ he reasoned, _after all I've been through in the past several years, I deserve an adventure of my own design._

Fifteen seconds, ten seconds...Neville clutched the Portkey resolutely, a feeling of excitement for the unknown building inside him. Three, two, one –

There was a sudden jerk in the pit of his stomach, and then he was spinning, spinning...he squeezed his eyes shut against the rush of wind and the swirl of color...and then his feet slammed into something solid.

Neville staggered sideways and dropped his bag but managed to stay standing. He opened his eyes and saw that he was alone in a large, square room with a high, domed ceiling. The floor was made of mottled gray marble and the walls were paneled with rich, dark wood. Opposite him was an enormous golden crest depicting a bald eagle. Two wands were gripped in its talons, one emitting flames and the other a shower of stars.

Neville turned around to find a long mural of a group of men in breeches and powdered wigs huddled around a large piece of parchment, their wands poking out of their coat pockets. One wizard was signing the parchment with a fancy quill; with a start, Neville realized it was Benjamin Franklin, whom he had learned about in the dry Muggle histories Gran had forced him to read back when she'd feared he was a Squib.

A door opened at the side of the room, and a short, heavyset man in gray robes entered. "Right on time," he said in a thick Boston accent. "You are –" he consulted the clipboard he was carrying, "– Mr. Neville Longbottom?"

"Yes," Neville said, holding out the document that had been the Portkey. "I was asked to pass this on to the Division of Magical Wildlife. It's from Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic."

"All right," said the man, taking the report and handing Neville the clipboard and a quill. "I'll send that along. I need you to sign this. It's a bunch of B.S., really, just saying you're not coming into the States to be what the Muggles call a "terrorist." The President makes us give it to you. He doesn't realize that if you were going to do something illegal, the magical law enforcement would put a stop to it long before the CIA and FBI caught wind of it."

Neville quickly scanned the form in front of him. It did seem completely unnecessary. Such pointless paperwork was one of the many reasons he was glad to be out of government. He hastily scrawled his name across the bottom of the page and handed the clipboard back to the man.

"Thank you. You're all set," he said. "Are you Apparating from here?"

Neville nodded.

"Well, enjoy your stay in the U.S.," the man said, and he exited through the same door at the side of the room.

Neville was alone again. He could see no point in sticking around, so after a final glance around the room, he picked up his bag and Disapparated.

When he opened his eyes he was in a narrow (and mercifully deserted) alley between two tall buildings with rusted fire escapes climbing up their sides. Neville blinked, his eyes watering in the brilliant afternoon sunshine, wondering how he could have forgotten about the time change. It had been twilight when he'd left London, but a glance at his watch, which had adjusted itself automatically, told him that it was nearly two o' clock.

He hurried down the alley and stepped out into the steady stream of foot traffic rushing down the sidewalk, hoping no one would wonder what he had been doing in the alley. In fact, nobody seemed to notice him at all.

Most of the crowd seemed to know exactly where they were headed. Men carrying briefcases and women wearing business suits and impossibly high heeled shoes marched purposefully past storefronts and under scaffolding, dodging self-importantly around slower walkers. Teenagers in baggy pants and baseball caps loped along with Muggle music-listening contraptions clamped over their ears. Tourists dawdled in the middle of the sidewalk, snapping pictures and pointing out various sights to their companions.

Neville couldn't help but stare at his surroundings as well. Storefronts lined the sidewalk: dingy pizza places crowded between organic grocery stores and quirky independent booksellers, tiny Vietnamese noodle shops wedged between gourmet coffee chains and chic, sprawling clothing boutiques. Vehicles jammed the street with no apparent sense of order. Cars, taxis, city buses, bicyclists, and pedestrians alike seemed to regard signs and traffic signals as suggestions, which resulted in a great deal of honking and shouting.

Muggle London was similarly packed with diversity, but it had always, in Neville's opinion, managed to convey a certain elegance and British stiff-upper-lip-ness. In New York there was no sense of continuity whatsoever, which ironically tied everything together. Even the most dilapidated establishments gave off an air of pride, perhaps simply because they still managed to exist in the surrounding chaos.

Neville followed a boisterous family of five down a set of steps and into the nearest tube station, the sign for which labeled it a "subway" rather than an "underground." A dank hallway littered with ticket stubs and fast food wrappers led to another set of stairs, leading down to a bustling hub of passengers, ticket machines, and clicking turnstiles. Next to a row of graffitied advertisements, a map hung on the wall behind a scratched piece of plexiglass. The subway lines shot off in all directions like a gigantic, multicolored spiderweb.

Neville dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment on which Orlando Fortescue had scribbled directions to the flats owned by his wife's Muggle brother. After a good five minutes of squinting at the map and tracing the route with his finger, Neville felt certain of where he was going. He bought a MetroCard from an electronic kiosk and fed it through the little slot in the turnstile. Neville had ridden the underground in London too many times to be astonished by the Muggles' ingenuity, but he couldn't help but smile as he remembered the handful of times he had taken public transportation with Ron's dad. Mr. Weasley had never ceased to be amazed and enthralled by the beeping, blinking machinery.

Neville followed the other subway riders through another dank corridor, down more stairs, and onto a busy platform with three sets of tracks. A train had just arrived on the nearest one, and with a quick glance at the overhead sign, Neville hurried aboard and took a seat in a half full car.

The doors hissed closed and the train moved out of the station. Neville pulled out the scrap of parchment and examined it again. Four stops downtown, change lines, and go another six stops. It was simple enough.

He realized the train had stopped and the doors had opened. Through the window he could see a mosaic on the far wall that said 54th Street.

_Wait, that can't be right,_ he thought. _This should be 60__th__ Street. How did I go wrong?_

Neville stood up and started for the doors, but they slid closed again and the train began to move. He cursed under his breath and grabbed a metal pole to steady himself. Still standing, he examined the map near the ceiling of the car. Somehow he had managed to get on an uptown rather than a downtown train.

He got out at the next stop and glanced around to get his bearings. _I helped bring down the Dark Lord, but I can't navigate the New York subway system_, he thought frustratedly as he climbed a flight of stairs, crossed a little bridge, and went back down to the far set of tracks.

Nearly an hour later, Neville reached his destination. He walked a further two blocks from the subway station and found himself in front of number seventeen, Matthew Street, a seven-story, brown brick structure in the middle of a long row of similarly insignificant buildings. In its heyday, all of number seventeen's windows had presumably been framed by dark green shutters, but most of them were missing now. A few windows were adorned with boxes of bedraggled geraniums, and one window box on the fourth floor was full of cheery white and yellow daisies that looked rather out of place in the decidedly drab street.

Neville hitched his bag farther up on his shoulder and walked up to the front door, which was covered by a faded green awning, torn in places so the metal ribs were exposed. A hand-lettered sign taped to the glass in the door read "Inquiries: Apt. 1A."

Neville pushed open the door and stepped into a plain, dimly lit lobby. Two chairs and a spindly table with a vase of dusty silk flowers stood in a corner. A block of mailboxes was set into the far wall next to a narrow corridor that led to a flight of stairs and an elevator marked "out of order." To his right, Neville found apartment 1A, which was further labeled "Ed Wylie, Manager."

He knocked, and seconds later heard heavy footfalls from within. The door was opened by a round man with watery blue eyes. He was at least a head shorter than Neville and looked too young for his seriously thinning blonde hair. He could hardly have looked more different from his sister, Orlando's wife, who was tall, slender, and brunette.

"Yes?" he asked shortly.

"Er – hi. I'm Neville Longbottom, I'm here to rent, I'm Orlando's friend –"

"Right. I'm Ed Wylie." He offered a pudgy hand and stared at Neville appraisingly. "So you're a wizard." It was a statement, not a question, and whether Ed thought it a good or a bad thing was unclear.

"Er, yeah." Neville didn't quite know how to respond.

"Well, you're in 3B," Ed said briskly. "Let me grab your stuff and we'll go up." He disappeared into his flat and came back with two keys and a stack of papers.

"The elevator's broken," Ed pointed out unnecessarily as Neville followed him up the stairs. "I'll have it fixed as soon as possible, but for now you'll have to walk."

They reached apartment 3B. "You're in luck," Ed said, unlocking the door. "The previous occupant took off in such a hurry that she left most of her furniture here. It was cheaper for me just to let it be. You can get rid of it yourself if you want."

"I'm sure it's fine," Neville said. "I haven't really brought much with me."

"Good. Oh, and I don't allow pets."

"I didn't bring any," Neville lied, hoping that Trevor was still closed up inside the small cage tucked into his bag.

The flat was small and plain, mostly beige, with white window frames and a scratched and pitted wood floor. Most of the space was devoted to a sitting room with a tiny kitchen in one corner. A short corridor led to a bedroom and a bathroom.

Everything seemed to be in order, and Ed clearly had other things to do, so Neville signed the papers, paid two months' rent, collected his flat key and his mailbox key, and closed the door behind the manager. Then he turned and looked around.

_This is my place,_ he thought. _My own place, for however long I want it._

Despite that invigorating idea, a sudden wave of exhaustion swept over him. It had been a very long day. Though the afternoon sunshine was still streaming through the windows, though it was only nine-thirty back in England, Neville staggered down the hall, collapsed on the lumpy, bare mattress, and fell asleep.

**-.-.-.-.-**

_Thank you for reading! Please leave me a review._

– _A Chocolate Frog_


	2. Chapter 2: The Laundry Hero

_This chapter is a little short. Future ones will be longer! And I will try to update sooner. :)_

_**~Chapter 2: The Laundry Hero~**_

Golden beams of sunshine streamed through the window as Neville blinked his way into consciousness. He yawned and sat up slowly, and his stomach gave a tremendous growl. A glance at his watch told him it was seven-thirty. He couldn't remember ever having slept so long in his life.

His stomach grumbled again, and he rolled off the bed and reached into his duffel bag, whose contents were quite disproportionate to its apparent size. After rummaging through clothes, books, photographs, towels, and dishes, Neville finally found a box of crackers and a package of Cauldron Cakes that he had thrown in at the last minute. He also removed Trevor's little travel case, a wise investment after so many years of near-escapes on the Hogwarts Express. Trevor looked a little disdainful as his owner let him out, but that was nothing new.

After a rather unorthodox breakfast, Neville showered and pulled on jeans and a violently orange T-shirt emblazoned with a black Chudley Cannons emblem. A depressing amount of dirty clothes now lay scattered on the floor, as he hadn't wanted to draw attention to the fact that he was packing most of his possessions by doing extra loads of laundry before he left.

Neville sighed, fished a large basket out of his bag, and swept all the dirty clothes into it with a wave of his wand. He had seen a laundry room down the hall from the elevator on the first floor. He had never used a Muggle washing machine before, but how hard could it be? He grabbed a handful of Muggle coins and headed downstairs.

The laundry room was a white box with bright fluorescent tubes on the ceiling. Four sets of stacked, white ceramic washers and dryers lined two walls. Most of the third wall was taken up by a large bulletin board covered with posters and fliers of every color. Two low benches stretched across the middle of the room.

Two of the dryers were rumbling away already. As he sorted his clothes into lights and darks, Neville wondered who else could be doing their washing so early on a Saturday morning. He placed the clothes in the two washing machines below the empty dryers, closed the doors, deposited three of the largest coins into each machine, and waited.

Nothing happened.

Neville glanced around cautiously, pulled out his wand, and muttered a variety of incantations. Still nothing happened.

Grumbling to himself, he put his wand away again. Then a sticker on the side of one of the machines caught his eye:

**TO OPERATE WASHER:**

**Place clothes in machine. Pour liquid detergent over clothes.**

**Pour fabric softener and/or bleach into labeled dispensers if desired.**

**Close door securely. Insert $1.50 in coins and select desired wash cycle.**

**TO OPERATE DRYER:**

**Clean lint trap before use.**

**Place clothes in machine.**

**Close door securely. Insert $0.75 in coins and select desired dry cycle.**

_Damn._ What was he paying for, then, if not soap? Surely a little bit of electricity didn't cost a dollar and fifty cents. He wondered angrily why Muggle machinery had to be so complicated, pressing down the lever labeled "coin return." Two quarters popped out, but that was all.

Neville cursed aloud, earning him a curious look from a young woman who had just walked in. She was carrying a plastic laundry basket that held two brightly colored bottles. Putting the basket on the floor, she began pulling clothes out of the dryers that had stopped running.

"Um, excuse me," Neville said tentatively, "I was wondering if I could borrow a bit of detergent. I've just moved in and I haven't got any yet."

"Sure," said the girl. She picked up the bottles from her basket and crossed the room to hand them to him.

She was very pretty, Neville realized as she approached, and he suddenly wished he had bothered to comb his hair before leaving his flat. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders in the tightest curls Neville had ever seen. Her fair skin was dusted with freckles, and stylish glasses framed her deep brown eyes.

"I've got fabric softener too, if you want it," she said.

"Okay. Thanks," Neville said, taking the bottles from her.

"You're not from around here, are you?" she asked. Her smile was so friendly that Neville couldn't help but smile back.

"What gave it away?" he chuckled. "Surely not the accent."

"Actually, no," she said, returning to her own laundry. She nodded toward his shirt. "That disabling shade of orange is illegal over here."

Neville shrugged. "A man's got to support his favorite team. Although the way they've been playing lately, this color will probably be made illegal in Britain any day now."

He measured out the detergent and the fabric softener and poured them into the appropriate cavities. Closing the washer doors, he reinserted the quarters into the machine that had spat them out. Then he pushed the button labeled "whites" on one washer and the button labeled "darks" on the other.

Nothing happened.

"Er, sorry to bother you again, but do you know why these won't start? I'm sure I've done everything right," Neville said.

"They probably ate your quarters," the girl said, crossing the room again. "These things can be so temperamental. Hmm..." She pressed the coin return lever with no result. She reached into her pocket.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash behind them. Neville whipped around to see that his laundry basket and the bottles of detergent and fabric softener had toppled to the ground.

"How did that happen?" he wondered, picking them up and placing them back on one of the benches.

When he turned around, the washing machines had started.

"Wow! Thank you!" Neville exclaimed. "Are you a repair person or something?"

She laughed. "No, I'm an actor." She rolled her eyes. "Or I would be if I ever got cast in a _real_ show."

"Have you been cast in a fake show?" Neville was confused.

"No, that's not what I meant. I am in a show right now," she clarified. "It's just in this teeny tiny basement theater and it's...weird. My friend Danny is directing a production of _The Two Gentlemen of Verona_ and one of his actors broke their leg last week, so he asked me to fill in. Let's just say it's not something I plan to list on my résumé in the future. But I'm sorry; I'm just rambling! What brought you to New York?"

"Not knowing what the hell to do with my life except that I needed to get out of Britain," Neville answered truthfully. "Pathetic, isn't it?"

"No, it's like you're on an adventure! I think that's awesome!"

"Thanks," he said and held out his hand. "I'm Neville, by the way."

"I'm Emily," she replied. Her skin was warm and smooth against his. "It's nice to meet you, Neville, but I'm afraid I've got to run. I have a dance class across town."

"Thanks for your help with the machines." He handed her the laundry detergent and the fabric softener.

"No problem. See you around," she said with a smile, then she picked up her basket of clothes and walked out.

Neville stared after Emily for several seconds. He wondered what Harry and Ron would think of her. He wondered if Gran would like her. Then he shook his head at his stupidity.

They had literally just met. Their entire relationship consisted of a seven-minute conversation in the laundry room, he reminded himself firmly. Still, he couldn't help hoping he would get the chance to know her better.

Neville didn't want to just leave his laundry, but he didn't dare cast an Anti-Theft Charm on the washing machines after all the trouble he had already had. He sat down next to his laundry basket and resigned himself to staring at the bulletin board for at least the next hour.

His eyes scanned the plethora of multicolored fliers, so many that they overlapped each other and the edges of the board, obscuring all but a few square inches of cork. A hot pink paper offered "miracle wight loss solutions" (_Lose ten pounds in ten days!_), while a neon green sign urged anyone needing extra money to call today (_1-900-CASH-NOW – Ask for Bob_).

A much less flashy poster caught Neville's eye. He stood up and moved aside an advertisement for free concerts in Central Park so he could see the whole black-and-red, block-lettered sign.

_The Two Cents Theatre Co. presents_

_**The Two Gentlemen of Verona**_

_Produced by Carson Smalley_

_Directed by Daniel J. Meade_

_May 23-25, 8:00 pm_

_The Underground Theater, Gray St., Queens_

Neville's stomach gave an involuntary squirm as Emily's words echoed in his ears: _"My friend Danny is directing a production of _The Two Gentlemen of Verona_..."_ This had to be the same one! What better way to get to know Emily than to see her act?

The rational part of his brain jumped in immediately. He had to stop. Turning into a stalker was not a good idea on any level. He couldn't have had a more impossible idea.

But he was in New York and should therefore go see plays, another voice argued back. Neville hadn't experienced much live theater, but he liked what he had seen. And after all, _The Two Gentlemen of Verona_ was his favorite of Shakespeare's early works...

Neville spent the day debating with himself, separating the pros and cons in his mind. He folded clothes, made his bed, put dishes in the cupboard and books on the shelves, and walked four blocks to the grocery store, all while coming to a conclusion, changing his mind, returning to the same conclusion, and changing his mind yet again.

Finally, the time came to make a real decision. If he was going to go, he needed to get ready now.

He had just met Emily, but something about her had captivated him instantly. He wanted to see her again, to get to know her, to be her friend...at least...but there was a fine line between taking an interest and being creepy.

Neville was well aware that he had a history of missing out on things he wanted because he was too timid to pursue them. But that was the old Neville,he reminded himself. Why the hell had he come to New York, if not to be spontaneous?

He picked up a framed photograph from the small table next to the threadbare, plaid couch where he was sitting. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and his own face beamed up at him, while Luna smiled dreamily at something outside the picture. He could almost hear his friends encouraging him to go to Emily's play. Even Luna would probably blame his hesitation on a bite from a Blibbering Humdinger.

Well, Neville reasoned, how would he ever learn to be spontaneous if he didn't practice?

Ninety minutes later, he was wearing khaki slacks and a button-up shirt, had successfully traversed the city by subway, and was entering a small bohemian bookshop above The Underground Theater. He paid for his ticket, descended a musty, shadowy staircase, and found himself in a small room with a low ceiling. Rows of mismatched chairs faced an eighteen-inch-high wooden platform surrounded by thick burgundy curtains. A young man dressed all in black handed Neville a program and showed him to his seat.

Neville opened the program and skimmed the director's note. It was a long-winded explanation of how _"the petulant and self-centered actions of the protagonists, Proteus and Valentine, can be likened to the whims of schoolchildren, thus informing the concept of childish playground drama to reflect their mutual quest for Sylvia's love."_

Neville remembered Emily's description of the production as "weird." He was determined to keep an open mind, but he had to admit the concept did sound a bit odd.

He turned the page and began scanning the cast biographies, wondering what role Emily was playing. Was she the beautiful and headstrong Lady Sylvia, or Julia, Proteus's loyal true love? Or perhaps she was Lucetta, Julia's wise and sharp-witted lady-in-waiting?

Neville found the paragraph for which he had been searching:

**Emily Edwards**_** (Crab the Dog)**_ Emily graciously joined the cast at the

last minute and is playing the role of Crab, the smelly and stubborn

but faithful dog. Emily is a native of Ohio, where she performed with

Buckeye Theater, Inc. Favorite shows include _Annie,_ _Bye Bye Birdie,_

and _Footloose_.

Neville couldn't help but grin with empathy. He was definitely beginning to understand why Emily didn't plan to reference this production in the future. In any case, he reckoned as the lights dimmed, _he_ wasn't likely to forget this show any time soon.

All in all, it was a very haphazard performance. The characters, in a feeble attempt to convey the "playground" concept, were constantly skipping rope, playing hopscotch, or dribbling a football back and forth. A light in the back corner kept turning on and off at random moments, and Neville suspected that Proteus and Valentine had both invented half of their lines on the spot.

Emily, however, did a wonderful job. She scampered around the stage, mischievous and lovable, patently refusing to fetch the tennis balls her master tossed. Her long ears, obviously made of socks, kept flopping adorably into her face.

As Neville stared out the window of the noisy subway car on the way back to his flat, he wondered when he would see Emily next and hoped it would be soon. He was unable to articulate why, but for some reason he felt certain that a chance encounter in the laundry room that morning had permanently altered his life.

**-.-.-.-.-**

_Thank you for reading! Please leave me a review._

– _A Chocolate Frog_


	3. Chapter 3: Emily

_I'm apparently terrible at updating this thing on a frequent basis. My life is too busy! I can tell you that reviews will definitely motivate me to update sooner! :)_

_**~Chapter 3: Emily~**_

Neville had slept for another ridiculously long period of time. Judging by the bright sunbeams stretched across his bedroom floor, it was around noon. The time difference between England and New York was clearly still playing havoc with his internal clock.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Something was knocking urgently against the window – probably the reason he had woken up. He shuffled over to the window to take a look.

It was Hector, Gran's old brown owl. A red envelope was tied to his leg.

Neville groaned. Somehow he doubted that the letter contained best wishes for an exciting holiday.

_Tap, tap, tap._

"Yeah, I see you," Neville grumbled. He heaved the heavy window up enough for the owl to come in. The moment he was free of his burden, Hector turned around, darted back outside, and soared away.

_Smart bird_, Neville thought wryly as the envelope in his hands began to smoke. He had received enough Howlers in his day to know what to do: he threw the letter into the air, grabbed his wand, and cast a modified Bubble Head Charm around it, seconds before it exploded.

The bubble floated down slowly, bouncing slightly as it hit the ground, containing the vast majority of the Howler's shrieks. Neville caught snippets of the message (_"...never had this disrespect from your father!" "See if I let you back in the house...!"_), but it was all over rather quickly. The envelope burst into flames, and Neville removed the charm and Vanished the charred, curled remains.

"Well, glad that's done," he said cheerfully, ambling into the kitchen to placate his growling stomach.

After showering and getting dressed, Neville sat at the wobbly kitchen table he had inherited and wrote to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. He assured them he was doing well and described what he had seen of New York so far. Then he paused, his quill hovering above the parchment. Should he tell them about Emily? Although, really, what was there to tell? He had met a very friendly, very attractive neighbor in the laundry room, and then he had quietly gone to see the play she was in. His intentions had been nothing less than honorable, but he realized they might be misconstrued by other people. Not that his best friends would think he had suddenly turned into some kind of weirdo, but still...

In the end, Neville signed the letters as they were and sealed them, addressing one to Harry and Ron's flat and the other to Hermione and Ginny's. Then he remembered he had no way to send them.

_I'll have to make a trip to Merlin's Square tomorrow,_ he decided. _I'm almost out of Muggle money anyway._ He knew the Wizarding section of New York City was located somewhere near Times Square, but he had neither the energy nor the motivation to go looking for it today.

Feeling a rather lazy afternoon was in order, Neville stretched out on the couch with a particularly interesting book on the magical plants of the Amazon River basin. It was difficult to read, however, when thoughts of a certain person kept crowding, uninvited, into his brain. He pulled the book closer to his nose and stared resolutely at the chapter titled "Brazilian Riverwort."

He sighed. This was hopeless.

He would _not_ let his emotions get out of hand. Being spontaneous was fun and all, but falling for the first girl he met was not part of the plan. Emily was just a friend – and to be honest, did she even qualify as that? They had spent all of ten minutes with each other, and there was no way her parting comment ("See you around") could be interpreted as anything other than a polite acknowledgment that they were living in the same building.

They had at least exchanged some personal information. He had explained to her why he was in New York, and she had told him about her play. But it wasn't as if she had invited him to attend. Surely she hadn't even known he was there last night.

Perhaps, then, he should let her know he had been there. Otherwise, what had been the point in his going to the play at all?

Before he knew what he was doing, Neville had marked his place in the book, checked his hair in the bathroom mirror, and was standing in the corridor outside his flat. He didn't know which flat was Emily's, of course, but he had a strong suspicion that she liked yellow and white daisies, like the ones in the box directly above his sitting room window.

Within a minute, Neville was staring at the door of 4B. He reached out and knocked. Only then did he realize he hadn't planned anything to say.

Two deadbolts clicked and the door opened partway, still connected to the door frame by a brass chain. Emily peered out, clearly surprised.

"Hi?" she said, turning the word into a question.

"Hi," Neville said, hoping a full sentence would tumble out of his mouth. He hoped in vain.

"Are the washers messed up again?" she asked.

"What? Oh...no..." It was definitely time to start limiting the spontaneity, Neville decided. But he had to say something. Why had he come here again?

"Er...you, er...you're a great dog," he stammered.

Emily stared. "Excuse me?"

Neville flushed, dearly wishing he could cast a Silencing Charm on himself before he said anything worse, but he pressed valiantly on. "That's not what I meant! I'm sorry, I just meant...you were good in _The Two Gentlemen of Verona_," he finished lamely.

Her eyes grew wide with understanding (_Brilliant, she thinks I'm stalking her. She's probably terrified,_ Neville realized. _Honestly, why can't the floor just swallow me whole?_), but then she squeezed her eyes shut and clapped a hand to her forehead.

"You saw it?" she squeaked.

"Well, yeah, I went last night," Neville said cautiously.

"Oh, God," Emily moaned, and now _she_ flushed. "_Why?_ How did you find it?"

"Er...I just figured I was in New York and I should see some theatre." (That was true, even if it hadn't been his primary motivation.) "I saw the sign in the laundry room. I've always liked _Two Gents_," he added.

"Oh, God," she said again, "no one ever looks at that bulletin board. I promised Danny and Carson I'd hang some publicity, and I put it there because nobody ever reads what anyone else puts up."

She unhooked the chain and pulled the door back so they could see more than just each other's faces. She was wearing gray sweatpants and a maroon T-shirt that said _Fiddler on the Roof_. Her curly hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Despite the enormous cloud of embarrassment hovering in the doorway, Neville caught himself wondering if those curls were as soft as they looked.

"Was it awful?" she asked. "What am I saying? Of course it was awful. And why are we just standing here? Come inside," Emily said, opening the door even farther.

"It wasn't awful," Neville said, following her into the flat. "You were brilliant."

She smiled halfheartedly. "Thanks. It might have been a fun role if the rest of the show had been halfway decent."

"There were other good things," he said, trying to recall some. "Er...the woman who played Lucetta was really good too. And so was the Outlaws' dance in Act Five. I didn't remember _that_ from the original story."

Emily chuckled. "Neither would Shakespeare. But somehow I think he would have appreciated the music by ABBA." She sat down in an armchair and gestured for Neville to take the sofa across from her.

He obliged, taking the opportunity to look around the room. Emily's flat was laid out the same way as his, and there was just as much beige, though this was largely disguised because she, unlike Neville, apparently possessed the ability to decorate. Most things in the room were cream or varying shades of pink, but the sofa where he was seated was a spectacular hue of lime green. Bookcases took up most of one wall, bursting with both volumes for reading and collections of sheet music. An electric keyboard was perched on a stand in the corner near the sofa, and several photographs hung on the wall above it. Neville could see the cheery daisies through the windows, which were framed by rose-pink curtains, and another plant was growing in a pot on the small kitchen table.

"Don't get me wrong," Emily was saying, "I love my friends and I'm glad I was able to help out their company. I guess one just has to make some sacrifices when one's friends are determined to take the term 'starving artist' all too literally."

"Yeah," Neville said absently. He was distracted by the potted plant. He must have imagined that he'd seen a blossom moving.

But no – upon more careful inspection, it was clear that all of the plant's multicolored blossoms were opening and closing lazily, like so many pairs of butterfly wings.

Startled, he looked quizzically at Emily. "Is that a Flutterby Bush?"

She blinked in surprise, then her brown eyes narrowed behind her glasses. "How do you know what a Flutterby Bush is?"

Neville hesitated. This was a bit of a jam. She certainly seemed accepting and trustworthy, but he did barely know her...

Finally he asked cautiously, "Emily, are you a Muggle?"

Her expression didn't change, but her body stiffened involuntarily. "How do you know what a Muggle is?"

Neville took a deep breath and prayed he wasn't making a mistake. "I know what a Muggle is," he said slowly, "because I'm not one."

Emily gasped. "You're – you're a wizard?" she whispered, leaning forward in her chair.

He nodded.

Her mouth stretched into that beautiful smile again. "Oh! My! God! I can't believe this! I'm a witch! Merlin, this is too weird. What are the chances? Oh my God!" she babbled. Then she paused. "Why on earth are you living here and not in Merlin's Square?"

Neville laughed. "I could ask you the same question."

"You first; my answer is boring."

He shrugged. "So is mine. I needed a guaranteed place to stay right when I got to New York. I happen to know the manager's brother-in-law." He saw the curiosity in her eyes and answered her question before she could ask. "Don't worry, Ed Wylie is definitely a Muggle."

"Whew!" she sighed. "That would be _way_ too weird."

"Definitely," Neville agreed. "So why are you living here?"

"It's cheap," she said simply. "When I came to New York, the only available apartments in Merlin's Square cost a hippogriff's wing, and my funds were severely limited. They still are, even with two jobs."

"Where do you work?" Neville asked.

"I'm a waitress at Junior's on West Forty-Fifth during the week. It's a Muggle restaurant, but it's got the best cheesecake in the city, hands down. And I work weekends at Enchanted Reads, the big bookstore in Merlin's Square."

"Wow! How do you do all that and still have time for theatre?"

Emily laughed. "I don't sleep much. I go to auditions during the day and I work all evening. On the rare occasions I've gotten a gig, I've been able to rearrange my schedule."

"Wow," Neville said again. "That's crazy!"

He took another glance around the room and noticed something that hadn't crossed his mind before, but it seemed odd now that he knew Emily was a witch.

"Why aren't your photos moving?"

She chuckled. "Because I cast a nonverbal Freezing Charm on them when you came in. I meant to do one on the Flutterby Bush too, but I forgot." She took her wand out of her pocket and gave it a little wave, and the people in the photographs sprang back to life.

Neville looked back up at the pictures. One in particular had caught his eye. In it Emily, dressed in light purple robes, was standing with a tall, thin man with dark hair, dressed in navy blue robes and wearing square glasses. Their arms were around each other's waists and they kept glancing at each other, eyes dancing as if they were sharing a private joke, and then breaking into silent laughter.

_That's probably her boyfriend,_ Neville realized. _What was I thinking? She's too amazing to be single._ Still, he had to know for sure.

"Who's the bloke in that picture?" he asked, pointing.

Emily grinned. "That's Jordan, my brother. He's pretty much my best friend." Then she muttered, "_He_ doesn't think I'm an idiot."

Neville raised his eyebrows. "Who thinks you're an idiot?"

Emily rolled her eyes. "_Everyone_ back home. Well, okay, _almost_ everyone. Particularly my parents."

"What? Why?"

"Because I'm here in New York, living like a poor Muggle and trying to be an actor instead of making lots of money at some Wizarding company."

"But you're doing what you love!"

"They don't understand why I love theatre," Emily said, shrugging, "so it doesn't matter to them. They were proud when I started a drama club at school, but they never thought it would be more than an extracurricular activity, and neither did anyone else. All my witch and wizard friends think I've gone a little crazy."

She sighed. "And maybe I have. I was among the top five students in my class in every subject, and to be honest, I could probably get a pretty nice job with the Department of Magic or something. But that's not _me_."

"It's no use pretending to be something you're not," Neville said, thinking back to his days in the Auror Office. "It just makes you bloody miserable."

"At least I've got a little support. Ironically, my Transfiguration teacher was the only one who encouraged me to follow my dreams when I went in for my career consultation," she said, "and Transfiguration was my best subject. My grandmas help me too. My dad's mom doesn't really understand why I love theatre, but she loves that I love it. My mom's mom is a Muggle, and she was a dancer. She took Jordan and me to ballets and plays and musicals all the time when we were little. And like I said, Jordan is always there for me." She smiled a little. "It's nice to have people who believe in you."

"I believe in you," Neville said sincerely.

Her smile grew wider. "Thanks."

She glanced at the clock on the wall, and her face fell. "I'm really sorry, but I've got to get ready for work."

"That's okay," he said, standing up. "It was nice talking with you."

"I'm sorry I talked so much about myself," she said, following him to the door.

"I didn't mind. I like getting to know you."

"But I'd like to get to know you too." Emily paused. "Listen, Neville...um, I'm meeting a few friends for drinks tomorrow afternoon, and I was wondering if you'd like to come. They're Muggles, so we would have to stick to limited topics, but..." she trailed off.

He grinned. "Yeah, that'd be great! I'd love to."

She smiled, looking relieved. "Awesome. Well, I'll come by your apartment around four o'clock tomorrow, then."

"Okay. I'm in 3B, right downstairs."

"Okay. Bye, Neville," she said.

"Bye, Emily," he replied, stepping out into the hall. "See you tomorrow."

Neville restrained himself from looking back over his shoulder, but he was listening hard. The door of Emily's flat did not close until he had disappeared into the stairwell.

As he descended the narrow stairs, he couldn't help feeling proud of himself. Perhaps all the spontaneity he had been practicing lately would pay off after all.

**-.-.-.-.-**

_Thank you for reading! Please leave me a review._

– _A Chocolate Frog_


	4. Chapter 4: Questions and Answers

_Look at me, updating less than two weeks later!_

_**~Chapter 4: Questions and Answers~**_

Merlin's Square was nothing at all like Neville had imagined it would be. Instead of quaint storefronts with shuttered windows, picturesque arches, and cobblestoned walkways (basically Diagon Alley, only square), it seemed to be a sprawling mishmash of every facet of Muggle Manhattan. Tiny brick eateries and specialty shops were nestled between dingy-looking bars and sparkling glass-and-chrome chain stores, like Gladrags Wizard Wear and Enchanted Reads, which in turn bordered the grand Art Deco-style National Quidditch Museum and the enormous Manhattan Wizarding Library. Blinking, glittering, color-changing billboards covered every available wall, plastered with moving photographs and advertising everything from the latest Nimbus model to _Glamor Ghoul_ magazine's summer fashion preview.

After changing money at Gringotts and sending his letters at the post office, Neville didn't have too much time before he had to be home to meet Emily. He took a quick look around the square, though, taking note of places he wanted to explore on a future trip. He picked up a brochure at the Quidditch museum and decided he would have to sample Tennyson Tepfenhart's ice cream to see how it compared to Florean Fortescue's. Much to his disappointment, a small shop called The Herbology Expert appeared to have been closed for some time.

Neville exited through the passageway that appeared to Muggles as a perpetually closed subway station and stepped out into the noisy crush of Times Square. He found the entrance to a real subway station and made it back to Matthew Street with little trouble, having caught himself before boarding the wrong set of cars.

Before long there was a knock at the door of his flat, and he opened it to see Emily standing there, smiling as usual.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she replied. "Ready to go?"

"Yep." Neville closed the door behind him, took out his wand, and muttered, _"Colloportus!"_

He glanced sheepishly at Emily. "If I use the key, I'll just wind up losing it."

She shrugged. "Nothing wrong with that. I don't mind acting like a Muggle when I have to, but I use magic whenever I can."

As they started down the stairs, Neville said, "So, tell me about your friends. Are they actors too?"

"Carson and Danny haven't done much acting in a while. They've been too busy trying to build a successful little theatre company. Danny usually directs and Carson usually stage manages, but sometimes they switch roles, and sometimes they invite friends to be guest directors. Carson can be super-dramatic, and Danny has ridiculously extravagant taste but no money to spend on it," she chuckled. "And they're dating, but they bicker like an old married couple, which alternates between hilarious and infuriating."

"I have friends like that," Neville commented, thinking fondly of Ron and Hermione.

"I think everyone does," she said. "The other person coming today is Holly. She's a crazy little ball of energy, and her hair color changes almost weekly. She's incredibly talented – acting, singing, dancing, the whole bit. And she's always running about ten minutes late to wherever she's going."

"I would think lateness would be frowned upon in the theatre world."

Emily laughed. "It is. There's this saying you hear all the time: 'Early is on time, on time is late, and late is fired.' Somehow Holly manages to make it to auditions on time – _usually_, at least. She's just so good that people will usually cut her a little slack. But she's chronically late everywhere else."

Emily led the way into a subway station. "I use public transportation all the time," she said apologetically. "I usually Apparate when I'm going to Merlin's Square, but even Manhattanite Muggles get suspicious if you just appear out of nowhere."

Neville shrugged. "That's okay. I sometimes take the underground in London. It's just so complicated here. I finally got the right train on the first try this morning."

"It is complicated," she agreed as they passed through the clicking turnstiles, "but once you figure it out, you never forget. Just like riding a broom...or so they say. I've never been particularly good at riding a broom."

They settled on a backless wooden bench to wait for the train. Emily turned and sat cross-legged, so she was facing Neville.

"Okay, I want to hear about you," she said.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything!"

He grinned. "Neville Frank Longbottom, born the thirtieth of July, 1980...I could give you my life story, but I'm afraid it wouldn't be very interesting."

"I seriously doubt that. Um, why did you come to New York? I know it was to be adventurous and all, but why, beyond that?"

"I decided I needed a change – a really big one. I went to Hogwarts, and it was completely taken over by Death Eaters my seventh year –" he glanced at Emily, and she nodded knowingly "– and it wasn't pleasant, but at least I had a purpose. We did everything in our power to undermine the regime. But after all of that was over, I had no clue what to do next. I worked with a couple of my best mates for a while, but I was no good at the job. Then I was an assistant at an apothecary, which was okay, but I'd like to do something more significant than water plants for the rest of my life. I just have no idea what the hell that significant thing is. So I thought getting out of Britain and totally shaking things up might help me gain some perspective."

"That sounds logical," Emily said. "So what did your parents think of you packing up and leaving? Were they okay with it?"

Neville hesitated, then decided it was better not to beat around the bush. "Well, I don't know what they'd have thought. My parents passed away last August."

Emily looked embarrassed. "Oh. Neville, I'm so sorry," she said softly.

"It's okay," he said. "Really, it is. They were...ill...for a very long time. But I like to think they'd be supportive.

"I was raised by my gran," he continued. "She went bonkers when she found out I was gone. Sent me a Howler."

"When she found out you were –? You mean you didn't tell her you were leaving?"

He shrugged. "I left a note. I knew she wouldn't like the idea, and I didn't want to fight about it. I've been disappointing Gran for years, and it gets old after a while."

She opened her mouth to reply, but her words were drowned out by a roaring rush of stale air and the thunderous clattering of an arriving subway train.

They hurried aboard and took the only empty seats in the car.

"How long are we on this line?" Neville asked.

"A while, actually. Ten stops. It's kind of a long ride, but we don't have to transfer," Emily explained.

She shifted in her seat, and Neville was suddenly quite aware that their knees were touching.

"If you could have any job in the world, what would it be?" she asked.

Neville thought for a moment. "I don't know. Something having to do with Herbology. I guess that's not very interesting."

Emily frowned. "You need to stop saying you're not interesting. I happen to think you're very cool. And you could do a lot of cool things with Herbology – teach Mandrakes to ski or something!"

He laughed. "Okay, yeah, that would be pretty cool."

"So you really like plants, huh?" she asked. "I don't know that anyone else would have noticed the Flutterby Bush moving in my apartment."

He nodded. "I just seem to understand plants for some reason. And I like being able to see them grow from a tiny seed into something unique and useful and beautiful. Herbology was the one thing I was really, really good at in school."

"Maybe you should be a teacher," Emily suggested. "Teach Herbology."

"Er, I'm not so good with people," he said, then changed the subject. "But what about you? What's your dream job?"

She sighed wistfully. "Creating the lead role in a fun, vibrant Broadway musical. Preferably one with lots of tap dancing. But I'd settle for just about anything right now. The only things I've been cast in so far are a commercial for running shoes and a commercial for cell phones, which I don't even use."

"What's a commercial?" Neville asked. "What's a cell phone?"

"Commercials are the advertisements that Muggles watch on television," she said, "and cell phones are those little cordless telephone things that Muggles use everywhere." She nodded toward a balding man in the corner who was pushing buttons on a small, silver device. "Like that."

"Well," Neville laughed, "if you ever get tired of working in the theatre, I reckon you could go for a career in Muggle relations."

"I don't think I could ever get tired of theatre!" Emily said enthusiastically. "Okay, let's see... what's your favorite kind of candy?"

By the time they reached their final stop, Neville had shared that he liked Chocolate Frogs, the Cannons were his favorite Quidditch team, and he had been a Gryffindor at school. He had learned that Emily's favorite color was lime green, she had gone to a school of magic in Iowa that served most of the Wizarding families in the Midwest, and she was addicted to a Muggle soda called Mountain Dew.

Less than a block from the subway station, they entered a small restaurant called Abbey Road. It was decorated floor-to-ceiling with paraphernalia from the famed Muggle band the Beatles.

Neville followed Emily to a booth at the edge of the room, one side of which was already occupied by two men. They grinned and stood up to greet Emily, each with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"I've missed you guys!" she exclaimed. She stepped back and gestured to Neville. "I want you to meet my new friend, Neville Longbottom. He just moved here last week from England."

"Carson Smalley," said the shorter, stockier one, extending his hand. He had enough freckles to qualify as a Weasley, and his blond hair had been sculpted into meticulously carefree spikes with a copious amount of gel.

"I'm Danny," the other man said, shaking Neville's hand in turn. He was incredibly tall and lanky, with mischievous eyes and skin the color of black coffee.

"Pleased to meet you both," Neville said, sliding into the booth next to Emily.

Carson glanced at his watch. "Anyone wanna bet when Holly'll get here? Winner gets a free beer."

"Or Mountain Dew," Emily amended. "I'm working after this."

"Or Mountain Dew," Carson agreed. "I say fifteen minutes."

"Ten," said Emily.

"Seventeen," Danny said. "Neville?"

"Er...twelve?"

"Cool. So, Neville, what brings you to the U.S.?" Carson asked, switching topics abruptly.

"A daring quest for fame and fortune?" Danny suggested.

Neville laughed. "No, I'm afraid it's a bit more mundane than that."

He gave a truncated explanation, after which a waitress appeared and took their order. Emily asked for her Mountain Dew, and Neville, being unfamiliar with Muggle beers, ordered the same thing as Danny and Carson. They also ordered two baskets of cheese sticks for the table.

"What kind of cheese are we getting?" Neville asked as the waitress walked away.

"Mozzarella," Danny said. "Haven't you ever had cheese sticks before?"

"Er...no. Are they just cheese?"

"They're breaded and deep-fried," Emily said, "so the cheese is all hot and melty. Trust me, they're delicious," she promised, chuckling at the skepticism on Neville's face.

"They're fabulous," Carson said. "Welcome to America, where we deep-fry everything from potatoes to pickles, cheese to cheesecake."

Just then, someone burst into the restaurant and dashed over to their table. She was tiny, barely five feet tall, but she commanded attention effortlessly, and quite a few heads turned as she crossed the room.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm here!" she cried, panting.

"Breathe, dear," Emily laughed. "We figured you'd get here eventually."

Carson looked at his watch. "Eleven minutes and forty-five seconds," he announced. "Neville wins!"

Danny and Emily applauded good-naturedly; Neville felt mildly stunned. What were the odds?

"Neville? Oh!" Holly said, apparently noticing him for the first time.

"Holl, this is my friend Neville Longbottom," Emily said.

"Nice to meet you," she said, smiling brightly.

"Nice to meet you too," Neville replied, deciding that Holly was something like a whirlwind turned human. Her swishy, ankle-length, purple skirt, rhinestone-studded T-shirt, gauzy scarf, and frizzy, bleached-blond hair with a neon blue streak through the bangs would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but they seemed to fit her perfectly.

Holly tried to squeeze in beside Carson, but he and Danny stood up and moved aside, pointing to the inside of the booth.

"Little one in the corner," Danny said, grinning.

"Not fair," she grumbled, but she scooted obediently across the vinyl seat, and the men sat down again.

Emily was watching Holly, who was drumming her fingers on the tabletop, with an amused smile. "You have something to tell us," she said.

"I do!" Holly exclaimed. "I got the commercial!"

"Yay!" Emily squealed, and despite the frustration she had expressed earlier, Neville could see no trace of jealousy in her face.

"Good for you!" said Danny, squeezing her around the shoulders. "The one for the juice company?"

"Yes," Holly said. "I get to swing through an orchard on a trapeze. I'm very excited; I haven't done any acrobatic work in forever."

"That's awesome," Carson said.

"Congratulations," Neville chimed in.

The waitress reappeared and distributed the beers and the Mountain Dew and took Holly's order (something called a Yellow Submarine). Neville eyed Emily warily as she drank her alarmingly green soda. It was roughly the color of a poorly brewed Shrinking Solution.

"That can't be good for you," he remarked.

"This is heaven in a glass," she assured him. "Try it."

He couldn't bring himself to refuse her offer, so he picked up the glass and took a cautious sip. It was dreadful. He blinked and grimaced as he swallowed, privately thinking that a bad Shrinking Solution probably tasted a lot like that_._

"Not a fan?" Danny asked jokingly.

"No, not really."

Emily shrugged. "That's okay, more for me!"

As Neville drank some of his beer in an effort to revive his taste buds, Holly asked, "So, how did you two meet?"

"In the laundry room," Emily said.

"I live in the flat below hers," Neville added.

"'The flat!'" Holly repeated. "God, I love British words!"

Neville wasn't quite sure how to reply, but luckily he was saved by the waitress, who had returned with Holly's drink and the cheese sticks. Fortunately the cheese sticks were much tastier than the Mountain Dew. In fact, Neville decided, whoever had first thought to deep-fry cheese and serve it with marinara sauce was a certifiable genius.

As they munched away, Carson asked Neville, "What are you planning to do while you're here? Are you going to get a job or something?"

"I don't know. I don't exactly have a plan. This has all been so spur-of-the-moment," Neville admitted. He was in fine shape financially, as he had inherited a small fortune after his parents' deaths, but doing something productive did sound a lot more appealing than just sitting his flat or even walking around the city all summer.

"Are you interested in being in a show?" Danny asked. "We're thinking of doing a production of _Company_ soon."

"No we're not," Carson declared. "We already decided that a musical would take up the entire budget for the summer season."

"But think of the ticket sales we'd have for _Company_!" Danny argued.

"No," Carson said flatly.

They continued to bicker, and Neville pretended to be interested, but he was actually trying to hear Holly and Emily, who were discussing something very quietly across the table from each other.

"He's cute. And this is fast; it took you a month to introduce us to the last boyfriend," Holly said.

"We're not dating," Emily assured her.

"I like him better than the last guy, too."

"We're _not dating_," Emily hissed.

"Okay, fine, you're not dating – but you will be," Holly predicted. "At least admit you love his accent."

Emily's arm twitched under the table, and music suddenly blared from the jukebox across the restaurant. Even Neville recognized the opening chords, as the Beatles' songs made for popular covers by other bands, even in the Wizarding world.

"I love this song!" Emily exclaimed. "Oh yeah, I'll tell you something," she sang, "I think you'll understand..."

Danny and Carson stopped arguing to join in, and Holly did too, though she looked thoroughly annoyed.

Emily nudged Neville. "You're British! You have to sing to the Beatles!"

Neville felt he had a terrible voice and made it a point to never sing in public, but he didn't want to disappoint her, so he dutifully mouthed along to the words.

"I wanna hold your ha-a-and, I wanna hold your hand!" Emily and her friends sang gleefully, and Neville did his very best to ignore the impulse to reach over and slide his fingers between hers.

**-.-.-.-.-**

_Thank you for reading! Please leave me a review._

– _A Chocolate Frog_


	5. Chapter 5: Good Fortune

_It's been a while, folks. Sorry about that. But we've just had Emily's birthday and it's almost Neville's birthday! (Among my friends, Neville's birthday is known as BAMFmas!)_

_**~Chapter 5: Good Fortune~**_

The next morning, Neville Apparated back to Merlin's Square, determined to find something productive to do with his time. Though it was nice to have had a few days to get settled and just relax, he found himself craving something of a routine. Besides, if he ever decided to write to Gran, he would want to be able to tell her that he was supporting himself and not just living off his inheritance. And at the very least, perhaps finding a job would take his mind off Emily, who seemed to be in his thoughts almost constantly.

After an hour and a half of walking around aimlessly and thinking of nothing but the conversation he had overheard between Holly and Emily, he found himself on the wide, stone steps of the National Quidditch Museum.

_Why not?_ he thought, shrugging, and climbed up to the ornate front door. He heaved it open and stepped into a large hall with a high, glass ceiling. A metallic relief hung on the far wall, depicting a woman in striped robes closing her hand around a Snitch as several players in lederhosen watched, looking stricken. To the right of the relief was a sign that read _"Seeker Carolyn Evans captures the Golden Snitch as the U.S.A. Triumphs over Switzerland at the 1922 Quidditch World Cup Final."_

Neville paid three Galleons for admission and wandered around the museum for the rest of the morning. He breezed through the section explaining how the game had been developed in Europe and Britain, but he spent a great deal of time reading about the various teams across the United States and about famous American players. Many smaller exhibits were scattered throughout the museum as well. Neville was particularly interested in a display about Quodpot, an American variation of Quidditch, entitled "Being Popular Doesn't Make You Better Than the Original." He was highly amused by a display about the eccentric Eastham Kirby, who had attempted to popularize pre-match performances by groups of witches and wizards flying in creative formations while playing musical instruments. The idea was quickly dismissed after the tragic demise of several tuba players and bass drummers.

After a lunch consisting of a tasty but overpriced sandwich from the museum's café, Neville headed back out into Merlin's Square. He wandered down the block to the library and stood on the front steps, flanked by bronze eagles, but he couldn't decide whether or not to actually go in.

As he gazed back down toward the museum, something in the middle distance caught his eye: the closed shop called The Herbology Expert. Curious, he crossed the road and walked back down to the little place. The windows were smudged, the awning was fraying, some of the trim was sagging, and the sign in the door read _Closed until further notice_ – but there was definitely a light on inside.

Neville couldn't help himself; he was suffering herbology withdrawal. He reached for the door handle, then paused. Did this count as breaking and entering?

If the door was locked, he would just walk away. And if it opened, he reasoned, that would just be entering. No breaking involved.

He pulled; the door opened and he stepped into a veritable jungle of leaves, stalks, branches, and vines growing up to the ceiling, across the floor, and around each other. The light from outside filtered in with a greenish glow, and clouds of pollen floated through the air. Clay pots and metal shelves were obscured by a thick film of moss and lichen.

A path had obviously been cut through the chaos with a wand, so Neville took a few steps into the shop. "Hello?" he called tentatively.

A _thunk_ and an _"Ow!"_ sounded from nearby, and a man appeared, carrying a wand and rubbing the back of his sandy blonde head.

"Good gracious, you 'bout scared me to death!" he said with a slow, Southern drawl, blinking at Neville.

"I'm sorry," Neville said. "I know the sign says closed, but I saw the light on and...and I was hoping to get some fanged geranium seeds." He didn't want to admit that he had simply to come in and be among the plants and smell the damp earth.

"You can have 'em if you can find 'em. I can't find a damn thing in here," the man replied.

"What happened to your shop?" Neville asked.

"It was my great-uncle's. He opened this place, oh, fifty years ago or more, but he passed away just after last Christmas, and he left it to me. I couldn't leave Atlanta right away though – only got here two days ago – so it's sat closed all this time."

"You've got quite a job ahead of you," Neville remarked.

"That's for darn sure," the man drawled. "And to tell you the truth, I don't really know the first thing about plants. I probably should have paid more attention in Herbology in school. Heck, I probably should have paid more attention to everything in school."

"Well," Neville said slowly, "I happen to know rather a lot about plants, and I've got nothing to do for the rest of the day. Maybe I could give you a hand."

"I'd sure appreciate it. I'm Simon Warren."

"Neville Longbottom," Neville said as they shook hands.

They toured the shop as thoroughly as they could, but several areas were impassable due to the overgrown plants.

"I've been leery of just randomly hacking away at stuff," Simon explained. "I really don't have any idea what I'm doing, and I haven't had the chance to get to the library and look stuff up."

Neville examined a handful of vines and leaves. "I think you can just get rid of most of this. Just cut through it and Vanish it, and the rest of the plants should be okay structurally. Avoid this one, though," he cautioned, indicating a thick, leathery, purple creeper. "This is a Jamaican jelly plant. It's used in a lot of medicinal potions and also in Bertie Bott's, and the vines are full of this gooey substance that will just come gushing out all over the place. Wait until you have all the other debris out of the way and then use a Cauterizing Charm on the jelly plant."

"Okay," said Simon. "I'm mighty impressed. It's a lucky thing you wandered in here today. I know how to water plants, but that's about it."

Neville stooped down and felt the soil in the nearest planter. It was dry and dusty. "Have you watered anything yet?"

"I watered everything yesterday – at least everything I could reach – and they all just drank it right up. I was afraid of giving them too much water, though."

"Everything in this section can just be watered until the soil is nice and damp," Neville said, taking out his wand. "I'll have to take a closer look at some of the other things, like the cacti."

Simon and Neville spent the next few hours watering, weeding, and pruning. As they worked, they talked. Neville learned that Simon was twenty-six years old, he was married, and he had a three-year-old daughter. He had been an inventor, tinkering around with great ideas and never making much money. Though he lived for the creativity and the spontaneity, he often felt guilty, knowing it was his responsibility to take care of his family. When his great-uncle died and unexpectedly left him The Herbology Expert, he and his wife decided it was time to move north and try their hands at something else.

"I think I need to change the name of the store, though, since I'm clearly not an expert at herbology," Simon commented as they tackled a Devil's Snare cutting that had overtaken a tall mahogany cupboard.

"You'll learn," Neville assured him.

With the Devil's Snare out of the way, they opened the cabinet's many drawers, each full of a different type of seed and labeled with only a number.

"Merlin!" Neville gasped, pulling out various drawers. "I hope you've got a key to these numbers. I can identify a few of them by sight, but not many."

"I don't know," Simon said. "Hillary, my wife, has been going through all of Uncle Jake's papers in the apartment upstairs. I'll go see if she's found anything."

He disappeared up the stairway at the back of the shop, and Neville set about labeling as many drawers as possible. He easily recognized the bright orange Indian acacia seeds and also the fanged geranium seeds, which he hadn't actually intended to buy. He was astonished to find that one drawer contained two large, brown, twitchy Whomping Willow seeds. They were extremely rare and expensive, and he had only seen photos of them in books before.

He was awakened from his reverie by the sound of his name. Turning around, he saw a petite woman with short, spiky, reddish-brown hair. She was smiling and carrying a tall glass of iced tea.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Hillary. I brought you some tea."

Neville quickly returned the Whomping Willow seeds to their drawer and took the glass she offered. "Thank you very much," he said. He had been working hard, and he was thirsty.

"Simon and I really appreciate your help today," Hillary said. "Neither of us really know what we're doing here."

"Oh, it's been no trouble. I'm glad to help," he replied.

Hillary looked like she wanted to say something else, but at that moment Simon reappeared.

"I couldn't find anything," he said, shaking his head.

Neville sighed. "Well, I'm sure it's possible to identify all those seeds; it's just going to take forever. The differences among so many seeds are so subtle that I usually have to get out my books and look them up."

Simon and Hillary exchanged a significant glance, but before they could say anything, a tiny figure peeked out from behind Simon's legs. She stared curiously at Neville, her big blue eyes contrasting sharply with her white-blonde pigtails and daisy-patterned sun dress.

"Hi," Neville said. "What's your name?"

The little girl looked up at her parents. Simon scooped her up with one strong arm.

"This is Neville, sweet pea," he said. "Tell him your name."

She blinked. "Alice," she said seriously.

"Alice," Neville repeated softly. "That was my mum's name."

Alice buried her face in her father's shoulder in response.

"Neville," Simon said slowly, "Hill and I reckon you could be a big help to us. How'd you like to stick around for a few weeks while we get the store in order?"

"We couldn't really pay you very much, at least not until we get things going," Hillary said, "but I'd be glad to make your lunch every day."

"She's a great cook," Simon said with a grin. "So what do you think?"

"It's okay if you don't want to," Hillary added quickly. "I know we just met and all, and we don't know what else you have going."

Neville smiled. He didn't even need to think. He missed working with plants, he needed something to occupy his time, and he really liked Simon and Hillary. "I'd be glad to work for you. Payment in food is fine by me; I won't take anything else."

"Awesome!" Simon said, shaking Neville's hand with his free one.

They closed up the seed cabinet and established a time to begin work the next day. As Neville said goodbye and stepped out into the crowded street, he couldn't help but feel elated about his new opportunity. He looked back as the glass door closed behind him, he could have sworn he received a small, shy smile from Alice over her father's shoulder.

-.-.-.-.-

Later that evening, Neville thought back over the events of the day as he folded clothes that had just come out of the dryer. Though he wouldn't be making any money, he was very glad to have two new friends to help, and he was confident he had done the right thing. As he picked up his basket of freshly-clean clothes, he hoped he would soon get a chance to see Emily and tell her about the new development.

As luck would have it, Neville exited the laundry room and saw Emily just starting up the stairs. He called her name, and she turned around. Though she looked exhausted, she smiled.

"Hey, Neville. How are you?"

"I'm good. Thanks for that charm you showed me on the washing machine and the dryer," he said. "How are you? You look tired."

She nodded. "I am. It was utter chaos at the restaurant tonight. I have a feeling it's going to be a _very_ long week."

Neville realized he now had the perfect opportunity to do something he had been considering for the past twenty-four hours. Before he could talk himself out of it, he blurted, "Are you doing anything on Saturday?"

"I have a voice lesson in the morning, but I'm actually free all afternoon," she said. "I traded shifts with someone at the bookstore. Why do you ask?"

"Well," he said, hoping he didn't sound too hopeful, "I've been thinking that since I'm here in New York, I ought to be really touristy and go out and see the city, and I'd love to have a guide who knows what she's doing."

"I don't know how good of a guide I'd be, but I would love to go with you," she said.

Neville grinned. "Excellent."

"This is great," Emily said excitedly. "Now I have something to look forward to! Thanks, Neville."

"Any time," he said casually, though in truth he meant it wholeheartedly. He was coming to realize that he was willing to do just about anything to make Emily happy.

**-.-.-.-.-**

_Thank you for reading! Please leave me a review._

– _A Chocolate Frog_


	6. Chapter 6: Central Park

_Happy birthday, Neville! Here are two big chapters in your honor._

_**~Chapter 6: Central Park~**_

Though Neville barely saw Emily the rest of the week, he spent most of his days imagining scenarios that could potentially happen when they got together that weekend. After a while, he began to wonder whether he had inadvertently asked her out on a date. He hadn't intended the outing to be a date, but perhaps she had construed it that way. If that were the case, did that make it a date, or was the nature of their getting together more based on his intentions? He was curious enough that he almost wanted to write Hermione to see if she had any insight.

All of these thoughts of Emily and dating and the like were unconscious at first; he would be busy pruning a shrub and suddenly realize that his mind had wandered off into the very territory he was trying hard to avoid. Once he had realized this, it became truly impossible to think about anything else. Though he was thrilled to be working with plants again and he was truly enjoying getting to know Simon and Hillary, the days seemed to drag on and on.

When Saturday morning finally arrived, Neville awoke much earlier than he had planned. Unwilling to admit that he was too excited to go back to sleep, he decided to use the extra time to get some work done for the shop.

He pulled his battered old copy of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ from the shelf in the sitting room and sat down at the kitchen table. Trevor, who had been sitting on the window sill, leaped across to the table and hopped over to see what his owner was doing. Small piles of seeds covered the entire surface, each having come from a different drawer of Simon's mahogany cabinet. He was able to make reasonable guesses about the species or at least the families of some seeds, and he focused his first efforts on them. He would save the others until more options had been eliminated.

Neville made progress in fits and starts, but at least he was getting a little bit accomplished. He was starting to realize how rusty his identification skills had become since leaving the Hogwarts greenhouses. After spending nearly half an hour trying to distinguish Chinese Chomping Cabbage seeds from those of the Siamese Spitting Spinach, he decided it was time for a cup of tea.

He filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove, prodding the burner with his wand. Blue flames appeared with a sudden hooting and squeaking sound. Confused, Neville looked around just in time to see a puff of brown feathers burst through the open kitchen window. It hit the counter hard, rolled over and over, and skittered to a halt inches from the lit burner.

Neville burst into laughter. It was Pigwidgeon.

The tiny owl hooted happily and held out his leg, to which was attached a letter addressed in Hermione's tiny, even script.

"Hi, Pig," Neville chuckled, taking hold of the folded parchment. "It's good to see you. You know, I could untie this a lot faster if you'd quit hopping up and down."

He finally managed to disentangle letter from owl, and Pigwidgeon fluttered up to the ceiling and began flapping in frantic circles around the unlit light fixture. Trevor, who was watching halfheartedly, let out a disdainful grunt.

Neville opened the parchment and read,

_Dear Neville,_

_It sounds like you're having a wonderful time in New York! I'm so glad you found the job at the herbology shop, and I think it's very noble that you're working without pay. I'm also very happy to hear about Emily! She sounds lovely, and I really hope everything works out for you two. Ron and Harry want me to say "it's about time you found a girl," and while that's not how I would put it, I agree with their sentiment. I hope Emily realizes how lucky she is to have met you, Neville, because you truly deserve to be happy._

_I'm currently sitting in the kitchen at Ron and Harry's place. They wanted to make dinner for Ginny and me, and while that's very sweet, I felt the need to supervise. Nothing has caught fire yet, though, and they still have all their fingers._

_Not much is new here. Ginny is up to her ears in wedding preparations, and I've been helping as much as I can. We all went round to the Burrow for lunch on Sunday, and George invited Angelina, which was a nice surprise. Molly and Arthur send their love._

_We all miss you, Neville, but we're happy things are going well for you. Write soon!_

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Neville folded up the letter and poured himself a cup of tea. He tried to picture Ron and Harry cooking together and grimaced, thinking Hermione was right in wanting to oversee their efforts. He wished he had the ability to make dinner for Emily, but Gran had always ensured that he stayed as far away from the kitchen as possible. He had slowly picked up the most basic of culinary skills from Ginny and Hermione over the past few years.

Finishing his tea, he decided he probably ought to get ready for the day. He showered and then tried on four different shirts, wishing he could quell the jittery feeling in his stomach.

There was absolutely no reason to be nervous, he admonished himself. They were just going to do some sightseeing. That couldn't possibly qualify as an actual date.

He thought back to Emily and Holly's whispered conversation at the restaurant, when Emily had made it quite clear that she had no feelings for him. Besides, Holly had mentioned a previous boyfriend of Emily's, and for all Neville knew, they might have just broken up. Emily probably wouldn't be interested in a relationship for a very long time.

"Today is going to be fun, and that's all," he said firmly, finally deciding on the first shirt he had tried on, a polo in Gryffindor red.

He still had some time before Emily was supposed to arrive, so he went back to identifying seeds. Before he knew it, however, there was a knock at the door. He jumped up, banging his knee against the table leg and sending a pile of tiny, navy blue seeds rolling in every direction. He smoothed his hair nervously and hurried to open the door.

Emily was standing there, looking lovely in a bright blue tank top and a denim skirt. "Hi," she said. "Sorry I'm a little early."

"No problem," Neville assured her. "Come in!"

She obliged and then paused to look at him. "You look good in red," she said.

He grinned self-consciously. "Thanks. Er...you look very nice yourself."

She smiled too, giving Neville hope that maybe his compliment hadn't come off as awkwardly as he had feared. "Thank you."

Pigwidgeon suddenly squawked loudly, having flown into the wall after making himself dizzy. Emily looked up, startled.

"Is that your owl?" she asked as Pigwidgeon shook himself, hooting feebly.

Neville chuckled. "No, he belongs to my friend Ron. He brought me a letter this morning. He's a little hyperactive. I just hope he doesn't make enough noise that I get reported for keeping a pet in my flat."

Emily shrugged. "Just cast a Silencing Charm on your walls. That's what I did."

"You've got an owl?"

"Nope. I have a cat. He was hiding in the bedroom when you were in my apartment. I know I'm not supposed to have an animal," she said, looking a little guilty, "but I've had him forever, and he's my best friend, and I hardly ever get to see my human friends because we're all so busy."

"Don't worry, I won't tell on you," Neville promised with a wink. "Pets are important. That's my toad, Trevor, sitting over there on the table."

Emily smiled. "Aww, he looks sweet! Can I pet him?"

"He's kind of obnoxious, actually. He thinks he's smarter than me," Neville chuckled. "But sure, you can pet him, just right there on his back. Actually," he said, as she gently stroked the amphibian's bumpy skin, "do you mind waiting for just a minute so I can label my last few seeds before I forget what they are?" he asked, gesturing to the cluttered kitchen table. "Then we can get going."

"Of course, no rush. But what, praytell, are you doing here?" she asked. "Surely not herbology?"

"I found a job!" he said proudly. "Well, sort of. I met a bloke in Merlin's Square who inherited a herbology shop, but he and his wife hardly know anything about plants, so I'm helping them out."

"Awesome!" she said. "Look at you; you've found something significant to do already!"

Neville opened his mouth to reply that he'd hardly done anything yet, but he remembered how Emily had previously scolded him for being negative, so he said nothing and simply bent down to retrieve the seeds he had knocked to the floor earlier.

Emily wandered over to the worn, plaid sofa, sat down, and looked around the room. "I like your place," she said.

"Thanks. It's not much," Neville said, depositing a handful of seeds into their container. "I didn't bring a lot with me, and I'm not very good at decorating."

"It's cozy anyway," she assured him. "All you need to make a home are books and photos." She picked up a silver-framed picture from the end table of a smiling young couple with their arms around each other. "Speaking of, who's in this picture?"

Neville looked up. "That's my mum and dad when they graduated from the Auror Academy. It's my favorite picture of them."

Emily smiled as Neville's father kissed his wife on top of her head. "It's a beautiful picture. You look like your dad."

"Thanks," Neville said politely, but he hoped that she wouldn't pursue the subject. He was looking forward to having a very happy day, and he really didn't want to talk about his parents.

She seemed to sense his feelings, however, because she gently replaced the photo she had been holding and picked up the other picture frame from the end table. "Is this you and your friends?"

Having finished with his seeds, he crossed the room and sat beside her. "Yeah. That was taken last summer at the Weasleys' house. That's Ron Weasley there, and his sister Ginny, Harry, me, Hermione, and Luna."

Emily blinked and brought the photo closer to her face. "Wait, is that..._Harry Potter_?"

Neville stifled a sigh. Now surely all she would want to talk about would be Harry, he thought resignedly. He was so used to being around Harry, at work or at the pub or wherever, that he sometimes forgot his friend was famous.

"Yeah, that's Harry Potter," he said. "We were roommates in school."

"Cool," Emily said. "I'd love to meet your friends someday. All of them."

Her point was subtle, but Neville appreciated it. Emily was definitely not an average girl.

"My friends would really like you," he said. He glanced at his watch. "Do you want to get going?"

She nodded. "I'm ready if you are. Manhattan, here we come!"

They left the apartment building and took the subway to 77th Street. Emily had suggested Central Park as a good place to start.

"Of course, we could spend a week walking around Central Park," she acknowledged, "but we'll just hit some of the highlights. And we can get some lunch there."

They walked a block south and entered the park, heading down a paved, tree-lined path. Neville was amazed by the sudden tranquility that surrounded them. He could still see the cars and pedestrians speeding by in the street, and he could still hear the honking of taxis and the wheezing of city buses, but the gentle breeze through the lush greenery was instantly calming. There were several other people nearby, but they seemed unconcerned with the hectic pace of life outside of the shady park.

"It's beautiful in here," he remarked.

Emily grinned. "I know. Actual trees in a big city. What a novel concept!"

They walked in silence for few minutes, Neville still looking all around, trying to take in his surroundings. Then Emily turned down a path to the left. "I want to show you one of my favorite sculptures," she said.

She led Neville to a grouping of several enormous bronze mushrooms. A larger-than-life-girl in a bronze pinafore sat atop the center mushroom, and she was flanked by a little man in a funny hat, a hare in a dinner jacket with a pocket watch and umbrella, a dormouse nibbling a cookie, a playful kitten, and a larger cat with an insane grin.

"It's Alice's tea party!" Neville exclaimed.

Emily nodded. "I used to come here every time my grandma brought me to New York when I was little. There's this great picture of my brother and me climbing on the mushrooms when we were about ten and eight."

"My gran read me _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ when I was about eight," Neville said. "It's one of my favorite books."

"I've actually never read it," she sighed. "I've been meaning to forever, but I've just never gotten around to it."

"You should. I always loved the nonsense. Whenever I needed an escape from real life, I just pretended I was down the rabbit hole."

"I always liked the idea of an un-birthday party," she said. "I wanted cake and ice cream every day, not just July seventeenth."

"July seventeenth. Is that your birthday?" he asked.

"Yeah. And yours is – hang on, I know you mentioned it the other day – July thirty-first?" she guessed.

"Oh, very close! July thirtieth," he corrected her. "I'm impressed."

Emily smiled primly. "I pay attention."

Neville couldn't hide his grin. It was nice to have a pretty girl paying attention to him.

"Shall we keep going?" she suggested.

"Sure."

They retraced their steps to the previous path, talking freely and easily.

"Where are we going now?" Neville asked.

"I thought we could go to Bethesda Terrace," Emily said. "It's got a really nice fountain, and there are always lots of food vendors there. I don't know about you, but I'm getting hungry."

"I am too," he agreed.

They walked for several more minutes until they reached a very large, open area paved with red bricks and gray stones. Wide steps led down to a massive, two-tiered fountain topped with a carved stone angel. Concrete benches lined the terrace, and beyond it was a large, greenish pond surrounded by tall trees. The area was full of mothers with strollers, dogs on leashes, a group of schoolchildren, and as Emily had promised, food vendors with their carts. Despite the quantity of people, the terrace still felt spacious and calm.

Emily and Neville selected a metal cart with a red-and-white striped umbrella, and they each purchased a hotdog and a bag of potato crisps. Neville bought a Coke, and Emily, of course, bought a Mountain Dew. They sat down near the bottom of the steps.

Neville bit into his hotdog and chewed it thoughtfully. "Hmm. This is really good. I've never really liked hotdogs before."

Emily laughed. "Then why did you get one?"

He shrugged. "I trusted your judgment. And it paid off. New York hotdogs are apparently better than London ones."

"A lot of things taste better in New York. Cheesecake, for example; that's why I work at Junior's," she said. "You should come try our cheesecake sometime."

"I will," he promised. "You really love New York City, don't you?"

"I do," she said. "I love the fast pace, the bright lights, all the different kinds of people...And I love Merlin's Square. I love going home too, though."

"I bet Ohio is really different from here."

"Definitely. Well, where I'm from, at least," she qualified. "Ohio has some really big cities, but I live in a pretty rural area. It's quiet...surrounded by trees...I really love that too."

"That sounds like where I grew up," Neville said. "At Gran's house."

Emily closed her eyes. "I'm picturing a big, old manor made of gray stone with a long drive and a huge garden."

He nodded. "That's about it, although the garden isn't much of a garden anymore, and you kind of see more ivy than stone on the house these days. Our groundskeeper finally retired, and Gran just never hired anyone to replace him. She's getting more and more forgetful. It's kind of hard to watch."

"I bet. I bet she misses you, though."

Neville rolled his eyes. "Yes, as evidenced by the exploding letter she sent me the day after I got here."

"Okay, well, you can't really blame her for being angry. You just took off halfway around the world without a word of warning."

"It wouldn't have mattered whether I told her or not. I've done about two things in my life that she was ever proud of. Okay, three. But I'm not my father, so I'll never be good enough for her." He suddenly heard the hard, bitter edge that had crept into his voice and bit his lip in remorse. "Sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Emily smiled. "It's okay. Families can be rough."

"Yeah." Neville still felt incredibly sheepish. Why was he so incapable of controlling his mouth sometimes?

She crumpled up the trash from her lunch and took a last sip of her soda. "Are you ready to move on? I want to show you my favorite spot in the park."

"Sure," he said. Glancing around to ensure no one was watching, he quickly pulled out his wand and Vanished their garbage. "Let's go."

They walked back up the steps and continued along the same path they had been following previously.

"Have you had any auditions this week?" Neville asked, hoping to steer the conversation into less volatile territory.

Emily shook her head. "No. I usually go to at least one in a week, but not this time. I've been working on a new monologue, though, and a couple of new songs."

"How many do you work on at once?"

She shrugged. "It kind of depends. If I've got something coming up that's a really big deal, I might focus on several pieces that are in a similar style, on top of my standard audition book. In general, though, I usually have about five monologues ready – you know, a Shakespeare, a Chekhov, some more modern things – and ten to fifteen different songs."

"Wow! That's like a full-time job!"

She chuckled. "You're telling me! Imagine every audition is like a performance review with the head of your company. You have the chance to get promoted every few days, but only if you do your job significantly better than all the thousands of other employees."

"I can't even imagine," Neville said incredulously. "I guess you have to be able to handle rejection pretty well."

"You do. You have to be okay with your abilities and who you are, because in this business you're constantly being judged by everyone, from the critics to the casting directors to your fellow performers. I can only afford to value the opinions of about seven people. Anyone else, I just have to smile, nod, and move on. I won't survive otherwise."

She was so confident, Neville realized, and that was what got him every time. Ginny, Luna, any girl whom he had ever found attractive was simply brimming with self-confidence, that which he lacked most. Of course he had fallen for Emily the moment he had met her, no matter how hopeless it was. The universe was set up in so many cruel ways.

"Here we are," Emily said as they passed between a pink magnolia tree and a low, slanted rock formation marked with a bronze plaque. "Strawberry Fields."

"As in the Beatles' song?"

"Yep. This area of the park is dedicated to John Lennon, who was killed outside that apartment building," she said, pointing to a tall, brick-and-sandstone structure with a highly decorated roof stretching above the treeline. "It's been recognized as Garden of Peace by over a hundred countries."

They reached a small, triangular area of blacktop surrounded by simple benches. In the center of the triangle was a round mosaic of light and dark gray stones around the word Imagine. Someone had scattered red and pink rose petals around the mosaic's perimeter and had used whole roses and tiny yellow daisies to turn the circle into a peace sign.

"It's beautiful," he said softly.

Emily nodded. "I like the daisies. It's different every time I come. People bring things and leave them. Coins from different countries, candles, photos of John Lennon, sometimes an apple. I never understood the apple, but I'm sure it meant something to somebody. Everyone wants to leave their tribute to the end of war."

Neville thought of Fred Weasley, Collin Creevey, Tonks and Professor Lupin, Harry's parents, his own parents..."It takes more than flowers and apples to end a war," he said, more sharply than he had intended.

"I know," Emily said quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say –"

"That's okay, I know you didn't," Neville interrupted, feeling embarrassed again. Now he'd gone and made her feel badly. Honestly, where was his brain?

She placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Listen, Neville...if you ever need to talk or anything...I've got good ears."

He smiled. "Thanks. There's a lot about you that's good."

She smiled too. "You're sweet." She paused. "Now, what do you think? Should we head back out into the big, bad city?"

"Fine by me," he said. "Lead on!"

**-.-.-.-.-**

_Thank you for reading! Please leave me a review._

– _A Chocolate Frog_


	7. Chapter 7: Over the Moon

_Happy birthday, Neville! Here are two big chapters in your honor._

_**~Chapter 7: Over the Moon~**_

Emily led the way to a subway station, where they took the orange line some twenty blocks south to the 47th Street station.

"This is one of the busiest places in Manhattan," she said as they climbed a set of stairs back to the street level.

"I see that," Neville said, taking in the massive flow of people passing before him. The crowd seemed to be composed of equal parts tourists, businesspeople, and high-fashion shoppers. "Where are we, exactly?"

"Rockefeller Center," Emily said, starting down the sidewalk. "It actually covers an area of a few blocks, but when you say 'Rockefeller Center,' most people think of this part." She pointed to a concrete plaza sunken a few yards into the ground. It was bordered by polished granite walls and some two hundred flagpoles displaying national flags from around the world. At the far end of the plaza, beyond many small tables shaded by wide umbrellas, was an enormous golden statue of a mythical-looking man with a flaming torch, surrounded by several jets of bubbling water.

"Prometheus?" Neville asked.

"Yep. Bringing fire to the Muggles."

Neville was becoming more and more impressed with the amount of random information Emily seemed to know off the top of her head. Gran had always dismissed "the artistic types" as being shallow, unfocused, and generally unintelligent, but Emily was obviously well-read in a variety of subjects, both Muggle and magical, in addition to being very talented with a wand and a triple threat on the stage.

"What are all the flags for?" he asked.

"They probably represent all the members of the Muggles' United Nations. They meet here in New York," she explained. "The flags change pretty frequently. Sometimes they put up special seasonal ones, and for national holidays they're all U.S. flags."

He couldn't hide his grin.

"What?" she asked.

He shook his head. "You just know everything about everything. How do you do it?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I just remember things. They stick in my head, I guess."

"You would love my friend Hermione," Neville said. "She usually sounds like she had a bowl of books for breakfast. I can hardly remember where I laid down my wand, let alone when the International Statute of Secrecy was signed."

Emily smiled mischievously. "1689. Hey, maybe if I ever need a third job, I could become a tour guide. Of course, I think I'd probably need a Time-Turner too."

He laughed. "You could do it. And I would be proud to say I was your first client. Where are we going now, O Great Tour Guide?"

"I thought we could go over to the Theatre District and just walk around some," she said. "It's pretty much a completely different world from anything else I've ever seen."

"Sounds good to me," he agreed as they stopped on the corner to wait for the traffic light to change.

"There's an important New York landmark," Emily said, pointing across the street to a building with a grand marquee and two stories-tall signs that said _Radio City_ in red and blue neon lights. "Radio City Music Hall. I'm going to dance there someday," she stated, so confidently that Neville couldn't have argued with her even if he had wanted to.

As they entered the Theatre District, Neville was unsurprised to find that it was indeed like nowhere else he had ever seen – even London's famed West End. Every other building seemed to house a different show, and everywhere he looked, there seemed to be an impossible number of light bulbs or an unfathomable amount of neon tubing.

Emily kept up a running commentary on the advertisements that bombarded them. "I would _love_ to be in that show," she said, indicating a theater plastered with posters for _Thoroughly Modern Millie_. "It's full of tap dancing!" Then she pointed to a billboard across the street for something called _Hairspray_. "That's supposed to be the best new musical of the year, and I'm _dying_ to see it. It doesn't even start previews till the middle of July, and I've heard tickets are already impossible to get."

As they neared Times Square, their surroundings seemed to become even crazier. Advertisements took up whole walls. Gigantic video screens overshadowed the vast number of billboards, and everything else seemed to be spinning, glittering, blinking, or some combination thereof. The best comparison Neville could draw was that walking down Broadway was like walking through a massive, outdoor Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

They reached 45th Street, and Emily asked, "Do you want to see where I work?"

"Sure!" Neville replied. He was eager to know more about any part of her life she was willing to share with him. He could feel a small flutter of hope building within his chest that this offer might be a sign that she was interested in him, even as he reminded himself not to read things into it that didn't exist.

They turned right and were soon standing in front of the wide glass windows of Junior's Most Fabulous Restaurant, as a large sign declared in orange letters. There were plenty of customers inside, and servers in black pants, crisp white shirts, white aprons, and black bow ties zipped from table to table, carrying trays laden with milkshakes and thick deli sandwiches. One server with a long, brown ponytail and glasses finished unloading her tray at a table near the window, saw Emily, and waved enthusiastically. Emily waved back.

"That's my friend Hannah," she explained. "We don't get to see each other that often, because I usually work during the week and she usually works on the weekends."

"Do you want to go in and say hi?" Neville asked.

"I'd like to," she said, "but she's way too busy. Besides, the longer we stick around here, the more likely it is that someone will come out and try to make me pick up an extra shift, and then I'll have to say 'No way, I'm hanging out with Neville now,' and then they'll argue, and it'll just be a big mess."

It sounds like we'd better move on then," he said. He was pretty sure she was kidding, but he didn't want to run the risk of anyone infringing on his time with Emily. "Where to next?"

"I don't know about you," she said, "but all this walking is making me pretty hungry."

As soon as she said it, he realized he was hungry too. He looked up and discovered that the sun was firmly settled in the western part of the sky. How had the day passed so quickly?

"I could definitely eat something," he agreed.

"I know a great pizza place that's not far from here," she suggested. "Would that be okay?"

"Sounds good to me!" he said, and they set off again.

"So, do you enjoy working at Junior's?" Neville asked as they walked.

"I do," she said. "It can be exhausting at times, but it's usually fun. In terms of customers, we get a lot of tourists, especially families, but we also have a lot of New York regulars who come in every few days. It pays well, and I get a lot of really good tips. I'll admit I sometimes use magic to help me out."

He shrugged. "Nothing wrong with that. You might as well use the talents you've got. And I'm sure being such a friendly person has something to do with your tips. You can be a really thorough, attentive server, but people won't like you if you're grouchy."

"Fair point," Emily acknowledged. "We get routine lectures on being super courteous to customers. Everyone who works at Junior's is really, really nice anyway, though. Well, almost everyone," she amended, frowning slightly.

"Oh?"

"Well, there's just one problem person, really. She puts up this front of being really super nice, but once you get to know her she's honestly just nasty. She lies left and right to the managers, but you can't ever really prove it, and she has these compulsive needs to stir up trouble and have all the attention on her. A lot of us who work there are trying to break into show business, and she is too, but she seems to feel intimidated by other people's talent and deals with it by bringing everyone else down."

"That's awful," Neville said.

"I've heard her younger sister has already been in several Broadway shows, which must be really frustrating, but I just can't bring myself to feel sorry for her," Emily sighed. "But enough about that; here we are!"

They were standing beneath the green-and-white striped awning of a restaurant called Fiorello's. Neville opened the door and said, "After you!"

"Thank you," Emily said, looking both surprised and pleased.

Fiorello's wasn't overly large, but they were seated quickly. Neville admitted that he hadn't eaten very much pizza in his lifetime, as it wasn't among the usual fare served at Hogwarts or by Gran's housekeeper. Hermione and Ginny had made it on occasion, but they always stuck with very traditional toppings like pepperoni and tomato. Emily urged him to try her favorite toppings, ham and pineapple, and though it sounded odd, he decided to defer to her judgment once again.

"New York is supposed to be famous for its pizza too, right?" he asked. "Or did I just make that up?"

"No, you're right. Although Chicagoans also think they're the authorities on pizza, and they'll tell you New Yorkers have it all wrong," she explained. "Having grown up in the Midwest and now living here, I can appreciate both styles. Chicago pizza is usually deep-dish, while New York –"

She suddenly whipped open her menu and began studying it very closely, holding it up and toward the edge of the table, as if she were trying to block something from her view.

"Er...Emily?" Neville asked tentatively. "Are you okay?"

She peeked over the edge of the menu, sighed, folded it back up, and looked at Neville apologetically. "Sorry. You see that girl over there?" She nodded toward a table of four people a short length away. "The girl just sitting down there."

"Yeah?"

"She's a friend of my ex-boyfriend, and I really didn't want her to see me. We haven't seen each other in well over a year, but I'm kind of distinctive-looking," Emily said, tugging on her plentiful curls.

Neville, of course, was concerned that Emily was upset, but he couldn't help wondering again if those curls were as soft as he imagined them to be.

"Did things end badly with your ex?" he asked, trying to get his brain back on track, then immediately wished he had said something else. What if she didn't want to talk about such a personal topic?

"You could say that," she said wryly. "We had a big fight and he started to come toward me, so I panicked and Stunned him. He was a Muggle and didn't know I was a witch. I had to modify his memory afterward."

Neville blinked. "Wow."

"I know," she said grimly. "It was definitely for the best, though. He was a jerk from the start, and Holly, Danny, and Carson tried to tell me so, but it took a long time for me to believe them. He was a swing in _42__nd__ Street_, and I think I just got caught up in the glamor of dating someone who was actually on Broadway." She shook her head as if she still couldn't believe her naïveté. "Suffice it to say, that's a part of my life that I try not to think about very much."

"I guess the opposite sex makes us all go a little mad sometimes," Neville said, trying to process all the new information he had just received. Emily's previous relationship had ended quite a while ago, and she had no feelings for her ex-boyfriend. Though he was trying valiantly, it seemed impossible to keep his brain from racing ahead of the present.

A waiter came over to their table, and Emily ordered their ham-and-pineapple pizza. When it arrived, Neville discovered that it was indeed a delicious combination, as she had assured him it would be. They talked and laughed as they ate, sharing stories of boarding school adventures. They both ordered ice cream for dessert, and Neville insisted on paying for Emily's dinner in return for her fantastic tour guide skills.

As they stepped out of the restaurant, Emily said, "I was thinking we could go to one more place, if that's okay with you."

"Sure," said Neville, who would gladly have stayed out all night if she'd asked him.

"I want to take you to the mother of all New York landmarks: the Empire State Building."

During the few blocks' walk to Fifth Avenue, Neville observed that the deepening twilight had done nothing to lessen the city's chaos. People still filled the sidewalks, some now obviously attired for a night at the theater or the clubs. Cars and taxis still whizzed by, honking as if their mere existence depended on it, and the neon lights seemed to shine almost as brightly as the sun.

"Does it ever really get dark in New York?" he wondered aloud.

Emily chuckled. "Sometimes it feels like it doesn't. A lot of Manhattan is always lit up, but there are parts of Central Park that get very dark at night. A lot of the residential areas get dark too. I always use a Disillusionment Charm if I have to walk from the subway to our building at night."

"That's a good idea," he said. "Our neighborhood seems pretty safe, but I wouldn't want you to take any chances."

They had reached the Empire State Building, and they pushed their way through its revolving door into a cavernous lobby of brown marble. Both side walls were lined with pairs of classic Art Deco elevator doors, and the far wall was occupied by a stunning silver-and-gold relief depicting beams of light reflecting off the top of the building.

"We got lucky tonight," Emily said as they boarded one of the elevators. "There's often a line to get on the elevators, and sometimes even to get inside the building." Once upstairs, however, they had to wait in a line to go through the Muggles' security system. They could, of course, have used magic to move quickly to the head of the queue, but neither of them made a move to do so.

"Give me your wand," Emily whispered as they neared the front, and Neville complied, even as he gave her a quizzical look.

"The Muggles will see it on their machine," she explained, "and they'll want to know what it is. I've cast a charm on my purse that only allows them to see tissues, gum, lip gloss – nothing with magical properties."

"Brilliant!" he said. Once again, he was impressed with both her forethought and her understanding of Muggle machines.

As they passed through the sensors, Neville was fascinated by the X-ray images of the bags that moved by on a conveyor belt. "The Muggles honestly do a pretty good job for themselves," he commented as Emily collected her purse and discreetly returned his wand.

After security, they had to wait in a second line to purchase tickets for the observation deck. Upon reaching the counter, Neville pulled out his wallet and paid for two tickets before Emily could do anything. He hoped his gesture wouldn't seem too forward, but he reasoned that he had a good deal more disposable cash than she. And while she tried to glare reproachfully as she thanked him, an appreciative smile played around her lips.

After waiting in one final queue, Emily and Neville squeezed into another elevator with about ten other people and rocketed up to the eighty-sixth floor. Then the doors opened, and after passing through the cluttered gift shop, they were outside on the observation deck.

Neville headed straight for the edge and gasped as he looked out on a blanket of millions of tiny lights shimmering through the darkness. Every car's headlight, every neon sign, every lit window in New York twinkled before him.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Emily asked from beside him, leaning against the tall safety fence.

"Incredible. This is even cooler than London from above," he said, thinking of a journey he had once taken on the back of a thestral.

"They say you've never seen the city till you've seen it from up here," she said. "You've got to see it from every angle, though."

The observation deck wasn't terribly crowded, in spite of the perfect weather conditions, so they meandered slowly around the entire building several times, stopping periodically when they reached an empty spot against the fence. Despite the other people around them, Neville felt as if they were in their own little universe.

"So, what do you think of our fair city, overall?" Emily asked as they admired the ever-impressive top of the Chrysler Building.

"I love it!" Neville exclaimed. "I swear, everywhere I look I see something new and different that I never could have imagined for myself. It's such a mix of old and new, sharp and graceful, order and chaos...it's unbelievable."

"What do you miss about home?"

"Not a whole lot, to be honest. I miss my great-uncle Algie's dirty jokes, and I miss Jammie Dodgers, which are these incredible shortbread-and-strawberry-jam cookies." He paused. "Sometimes it's hard knowing my friends are so far away, but I really haven't gotten to see them on any kind of regular basis since I left the Auror office."

Emily raised her eyebrows. "You were an _Auror?_"

He shrugged. "Yeah, for about three years."

"But you're twenty-one, right? Doesn't Auror training take at least three years?"

He shrugged again. "A lot of rules got bent in the process of trying to get the country sorted out after the war. Someone just decided I was qualified and kind of threw me into the job. I made a deal with Kingsley – he's the Minister of Magic – that I would stick around for as long as he needed me, but no longer. It was an astonishingly difficult job, especially those first few months, and I really wasn't cut out for it."

"I can't imagine how hard that must have been," Emily said softly.

He sighed. "Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do and worry about yourself later."

They walked on in silence for a while, until they found another open space at the edge of the deck.

"It's getting chilly," Emily commented as a shiver rippled across her bare shoulders.

"Here," Neville said, slipping an arm around her, and she nestled in against him gratefully. He looked out across the city again, hoping the view would calm his increasing heartbeat. "It looks like we're standing above the stars," he observed.

"Or maybe we're over the moon. I've kind of felt over the moon all day," she said, turning her head to smile up at him.

They had never been this close to each other before, and Neville felt rather overwhelmed by the light, sweet scent of her hair; the warmth and gentle weight of her body leaning against his; and her beautiful, sparkling brown eyes.

"Maybe we are over the moon," he murmured, and letting go of his nerves, he leaned down and kissed

her.

The kiss was soft, sweet, and chaste, but it left Neville craving more. Emily was smiling up at him again, which was reassuring.

"That was nice," she murmured simply.

"I thought so," he agreed.

"I've had the most amazing day with you," she admitted.

"So we should do this again sometime? Or something like it?"

"Definitely," she said, and stretched up for another kiss.

**-.-.-.-.-**

_Thank you for reading! Please leave me a review._

– _A Chocolate Frog_


	8. Chapter 8: Settling In

_Four chapters in three weeks! I must be on a roll. Just a friendly reminder: Reviews help motivate me to post new chapters. :)_

_**~Chapter 8: Settling In~**_

Neville was just rinsing off his toothbrush when there was a knock at the door of his flat. Smiling at himself in the mirror, he straightened the collar of his work robes and hurried to answer the door.

"Good morning!" Emily said, greeting him with a kiss. "Ready to go?"

"Just let me grab my stuff." He crossed to the kitchen in five steps, where he picked up his old school bag and swung it over his shoulder. With a swish of his wand, he transfigured his robes into jeans and a T-shirt and returned to his girlfriend.

"All set," he said, stealing another kiss before locking the door.

Over the past few weeks, Neville and Emily had developed a routine, or as much of a routine as

her current lifestyle would allow. Each morning they walked to the nearest subway station, and they often rode the yellow line together into Manhattan. If Emily was going elsewhere, Neville still took the subway to Midtown and then walked to Merlin's Square. He knew some wizards would scoff at his quasi-Muggle existence, but he was learning to embrace the hustle and bustle and he enjoyed observing the interesting characters around him. Besides, he had paid for a MetroCard and figured he might as well get his money's worth.

Emily was working a rare breakfast shift on this hot June morning, so they got to ride together all the way to Times Square. They wedged themselves into an overcrowded car, and Neville reached up to grasp a handrail near the ceiling and wrapped his other arm around Emily's waist. Another benefit of taking the subway during the morning rush hour was that it was often necessary for her to lean against him to keep her balance.

"What are you and Simon working on today?" she asked as the doors closed and the train began to move.

"Well, I think we've pretty much exhausted the possibilities for the seed cabinet, although there's one drawer of seeds that I still can't identify," he said with a note of frustration in his voice. "I would really like to get started on the flower section, because that is one colossal mess."

"I'm sure you'll get it straightened out," she said confidently. "Oh, and I meant to say this yesterday, but great cover story for Holly. That was some quick thinking!"

They had met Holly, Danny, and Carson for drinks the previous afternoon, and when Holly had asked if Neville had found a job, he had told her he was working at a greenhouse in New Jersey.

"Thanks," he said, grinning much more than was necessary for her simple compliment.

Emily's brow creased in suspicion. "What?"

He chuckled. "Oh, just picturing the looks on your friends' faces when we walked in holding hands."

She rolled her eyes. "They are _so_ overly-dramatic." (Carson and Danny had actually stood up and applauded as Neville and Emily sat down, and Holly had managed to say the phrase "I told you so" about twenty-five times in two hours.) "They just want new, juicy details about someone's relationship because the guys have been together _forever _and Holly just chases man after man without ever slowing down long enough to actually enjoy being with somebody."

Neville shook his head. "That's too bad, because this whole being-with-somebody thing –" They held each other tightly as the train jerked to an extra-hard stop. "It's pretty nice."

The doors slid open, and they fought their way onto the extremely crowded platform.

"I'm working at the bookstore until seven tomorrow night," Emily said as they plodded up a broken escalator, "but maybe after that we could do some more cooking lessons? I was thinking we could do tacos and I could teach you how to brown hamburger and make guacamole."

"Sounds good to me," Neville said, blinking as he caught sight of the bright morning sun again. "You'll stop by after your dance class tonight?"

"Of course," she said, and after a quick kiss, she melted into the rush of people heading north.

Neville turned west and headed for the abandoned subway station that led to Merlin's Square. Once inside, he transfigured his clothes back into his work robes and walked to The Herbology Expert.

Simon was already downstairs, making the rounds with a watering can. "Mornin', Neville," he said. "You get that one batch of seeds figured out yet?"

Neville sighed. "No. I can't find them in any of my books. It's really driving me mad."

"Well, the answer's got to be out there somewhere. I got a book from the library called _Obscure Magical Plants of the Americas_, but I don't think there's anything useful in it. You're welcome to take a look, though."

"Thanks. I'll look over it at lunch," Neville said. "What do you say we get started on the flowers?"

"Sure thing," Simon agreed. "How do you think we oughta go about it?"

"Well," Neville said, approaching the previously unreachable back wall that was mostly covered by shelves upon shelves of shallow, dirt-filled trays, "step one is to get rid of the dead stuff. Then we'll have to separate out the plants that are growing in the wrong places. See?" He gestured to a tray that was about eye level. "These Quivering Tulips have grown right over the divider and are all mixed up with the Shrinking Violets."

"You think we'll have to do that by hand?"

Neville sighed again. "Yeah, at least for starters. It'll probably take ages."

Simon clapped his hands together eagerly. "Then let's get to it!"

Vanishing the dead plants and debris took only a short while, and Neville and Simon were soon untangling twisted stems and carefully digging around the roots of each alien plant with small trowels. The process was extremely tedious. Before long, Hillary and Alice joined them downstairs. Alice sat quietly behind the main counter, playing with a teddy bear and a Wendy Witch doll, while Hillary attacked the foggy, green front window with cleaning charms and Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover.

Despite the time-consuming nature of the work, Neville was surprised when Hillary called, "Go wash up, you two, and I'll get lunch put together."

"Lunch time already?" he asked as he and Simon made their way to the back room to scrub away the dirt under their fingernails.

"Good thing. I'm starved!" Simon exclaimed.

They went upstairs to the apartment, where Neville helped Hillary carry plates of egg salad sandwiches and sliced strawberries to the table while Simon buckled Alice into her booster seat.

"How's Emily doing?" Hillary asked. They had met the previous weekend when Emily had stopped by the shop to meet Neville so they could go out for dinner.

"She's okay. She didn't get called back after her audition earlier this week, which was disappointing, but yesterday she got asked to be in the ad campaign for the joint summer reading program at Enchanted Reads and the library, so that's pretty cool," Neville reported.

"That's great!" Simon said. "I tell you, Neville, you two are darn lucky to have found each other in this big city."

"I know," Neville said sincerely. "I owe my mate Orlando a huge thank-you for sending me to the building where we live."

"I just have a bunch of mean old owls to thank for Hillary," Simon chuckled.

"What?" Neville asked, confused.

"I needed some extra cash, so I got a job cleaning out the owlery at the _Atlanta Journal-Sphinx_ building. One day while I was working, several of the older owls started attacking a much smaller, younger one. I didn't know what had happened, but I couldn't stand to watch the little guy get torn apart. By the time I got to him, he was bleeding pretty bad, so I took him inside and just hoped I'd find someone who could help," Simon recalled.

"As luck would have it, I ran into this _beautiful_ woman," he continued, gesturing to Hillary, who rolled her eyes but smiled as she tried to coax her daughter into eating a strawberry. "She took one look at the poor bird and led me to the editor-in-chief's office. Turned out he had a knack for taking care of animals – and he was also her father."

"I was an intern in the world news department at the time," Hillary said, "and before I left that afternoon, I went up to the owlery to thank Simon for saving the little guy – and we wound up talking for three hours! After that, I started spending all my breaks up there. When my parents finally found out, they were furious – they always wanted me to marry into old Southern magic – but we didn't care; we were in love. We eloped, and my parents pretty much ignored us for a year, until Alice came along."

"They still hate me," Simon said matter-of-factly.

"They don't hate you," Hillary sighed. "They just think you don't take care of Alice and me properly because we don't have designer robes and house-elves and goblin-made silver...Which, of course, is ridiculous."

"I don't like house-elfs," Alice said emphatically.

"I know, baby, they look kind of scary," Hillary said. "Finish your peanut butter and jelly."

Looking around at the little family, Neville couldn't help wondering if his parents had been the same way during the first year of his life – young, happy, so in love with each other and their child. Suddenly, he realized he was picturing himself and Emily together at a kitchen table, rings on their intertwined fingers and a wedding photo on the far wall. Surprisingly, the thought of that level of commitment did not turn his stomach, but rather seemed like a nice image, albeit one from the distant future.

He smiled wryly to himself. Maybe he was growing up.

Before going back downstairs, Neville skimmed the book Simon had gotten from the library, but he found no reference to the mystery seeds. "What the hell are these things?" he asked exasperatedly.

Simon shrugged. "Why don't you just plant them and see what you get?"

Neville shook his head, half amazed and half annoyed with himself. "Of course! See, this is why you're the genius inventor. And Professor Sprout always said I was the creative thinker in her classes..."

They made good progress on the flower trays for the rest of the afternoon, and before he left for the evening, Neville pressed one of the mystery seeds into a small pot of dirt, gave it some water, and set it on the ledge beside Hillary's freshly clean window.

After leaving the shop, Neville picked up some Indian food and took the subway home. Upon entering his flat, he discovered a plump, gray owl perched outside his kitchen window. It ruffled its feathers impatiently as he relieved it of its roll of parchment, hooted a farewell, and took off toward the orange evening sun.

Neville unrolled the parchment, which turned out to be a short note from Ginny. He read it as he dished his supper onto a plate.

_Dear Neville,_

_I miss you, but I'm glad you're having such a fantastic time in New York. Actually, I've been thinking about just running away and showing up at your door. If Mum makes me taste one more kind of wedding cake, I'm going to lose my mind!_

_Anyway, the reason I'm writing is to tell you that you are very welcome to bring Emily to the wedding. Mum wants me to insist that you do so, but I'm quite aware that meeting the entire Weasley family at one time can be a rather traumatic experience. We're all dying to meet her, though!_

_Well, I've got to run, but I can't wait to see you, Neville!_

_Much love,_

_Ginny_

Neville folded up the letter and tucked it into his pocket. He would _love_ to introduce Emily to his friends and adopted family. Of course, that would mean introducing her to his real family as well, but he figured if she still wanted to be with him two months from now, she could probably tolerate anything. Once Gran got over her anger toward her prodigal grandson, she would surely marvel at his wonderful selection of a significant other.

Around nine o' clock, there was a knock at the door, and Neville hurried to open it.

"Hey!" he said brightly.

"Hey," Emily said glumly. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt over a teal leotard, and her face was still pink and shining a little with perspiration.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "I've just had a rotten day. I dropped a tray full of dishes, spilled coffee all over some lady's purse, and mixed up five different tables' checks. Plus, you know Ann, the really nasty server I told you about?"

Neville nodded. "Yeah?"

"She got a callback for the audition I went to on Tuesday. It was all she could talk about. Then she just happened to show up for the same tap class as me, and she wouldn't shut up about it there either!"

"I'm sorry," he sighed.

"It's just not fair!" she complained. "I can sing better than her, I can dance better than her, and she's honestly not that pretty, but it seems like she's _always_ getting callbacks and gigs, and I'm sick of getting passed by!...And now I'm just being petty and jealous, so I'm going to stop talking."

Neville held out his arms for a hug.

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm all sweaty."

"So?" he said, shrugging. To be honest, there was something incredibly attractive about her fresh-from-dance-class look.

She shrugged too, but stepped forward and allowed him to wrap his arms around her.

"First of all, I think you're perfectly justified in feeling jealous. You have to put up with an insane amount of judgment, and I have no idea how you do it – and then to go and get your nose rubbed in it when you don't get a role must really hurt. Second of all, you _did _get something this week. You got the print ads for the bookstore."

She nodded against his chest. "I know. I'm not trying to say that I deserve every part that I try out for; there are thousands of talented actors in this city. It's just that I have so much contact with Ann, and she knows exactly how to get under my skin. And I've gotten gigs in the past, and I'm very grateful for the bookstore campaign. I just have this silly fantasy of stealing some fabulous Muggle part right out from under her."

He rested his chin on her head. "That's not silly, that's inevitable. Frankly, I think you should be grateful when Ann gets cast instead of you, because that's got to be an indicator of a low-quality production that you really wouldn't want to waste your time on anyway."

Emily chuckled. "Thanks. I don't know what I would do without you."

"You're welcome. Hey, do you want to actually come in and sit down?"

"I'd like to –" she stifled a yawn "– but I am _so_ tired. I think maybe I'd better just go to bed so I'm ready for my voice lesson in the morning. I'm sorry."

"That's fine," he said. "Don't be sorry."

"I still am," she said, and she kissed him deeply, as if she were trying to make up for some of her regret.

As Neville closed the door behind her, he realized he hadn't mentioned Ginny's letter. _Oh well_, he decided. _We'll talk about it tomorrow._

**-.-.-.-.-**

_Thank you for reading! Please leave me a review._

– _A Chocolate Frog_


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